All You Need
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: COMPLETE. Tony and Ziva have to disappear when an enemy returns. The team works to find out what's happened to them while they may not be a safe as they'd think. Mayhem ensues, as always. Sequel to Black and White.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own NCIS. Incidentally, I've just decided to name my stapler NCIS. To be clear, I do not own NCIS: The Television Show, but I totally own NCIS: The Stapler.

Summary: There's crime-y stuff, which is my usual excuse to write long Tony/Ziva stories because I feel silly if I don't give them work to do. Anyway, par for the course on the Tiva, but the whole team will also working on the case, which I'm sure will pop up at some point. Give me a break; it's not like I plan these things out in advance. If you want a vague hint – someone didn't want to go on the cart and it's a problem.

Spoilers: My fics _Locked_, _Taking it for Granted_, _No Good Deed_ and _Black and White_, all conveniently listed on my profile page. Wow, that list is getting long. I'm starting to feel guilty asking people to do all this prequel reading. If you'd prefer the short version – through events that occur in those stories, including some regular cases, a super-spy mission, panda rescue and multiple serious injuries, Tony and Ziva have gotten together. And…you're pretty much caught up, unless you aren't in a hurry and have time to peruse the 90 chapters that set of innocent looking titles represents. The big spoiler-y/important background for this story is in _No Good Deed_, so…that really saves no one any time at all.

Is there a fic starting sometime soon? Someone promised fic. Oh, there it is…T rated shower scene in this chapter, but nothing graphic.

* * *

The colors were vivid inside the elephant. Pulsating music seemed to throb inside his skull. He was dancing. He didn't dance, not like this anyway. Orpheus.

Tony woke abruptly and heard noises coming from somewhere in the bedroom – drawers opening and closing, shuffling. He opened his eyes but was disappointed to find that he couldn't see in the darkness of the early morning. The mattress sank slightly a few moments later as Ziva sat to tie her sneakers. He reached across the bed with his left hand and his fingertips brushed the soft material of her winter running pants. She sat up and looked at him over her shoulder. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"S'okay," he muttered through a yawn. The clock on the nightstand glowed green in the darkness displaying 5:54 in numerals that appeared to float in midair. "Late today."

"It's Saturday," she said enthusiastically, "so I'm actually early."

"Ugnh." He tried to roll away from her indomitable morning energy, but the soreness in his right arm reminded him that he had to be careful. The cast had been on for only two weeks and his arm still felt broken. "Before you go out, can you…"

"Fresh glass of water next to your pills on my nightstand," she interrupted.

He looked left but, seeing nothing, looked right. "You mean my nightstand."

"I mean mine." She leaned over to kiss his forehead. "I get my side of the bed back as soon as your arm is better."

"Have a good run." He listened for the front door of the apartment to close before taking two Tylenol and settling back to sleep.

K-Billy's Super Sounds of the Seventies Weekend. He was tied to a chair. A man with a straight razor was threatening him. The smell of gasoline. Stuck in the middle with you.

Tony had to stop himself from shooting out of bed. As he relaxed, he automatically checked the pillow; there was no envelope addressed to him sitting on it. He exhaled loudly. "Nothing bad…just a dream." His eyes were already closed as he sank back into the pillow.

Mmgmnd…music…golnfinsjgohg…submarine, heuh…explosion …Blue Meanies!

"Blue Meanies?"

He opened his eyes to find Ziva lying beside him with her arm across his chest. She was still sweaty from her run. The clock now read 7:09. Rather than answering her question, he asked, "Aren't you going to shower?"

She smiled. "Thought I might need some company."

"Company or _company_?" She'd showered with him on several occasions since he'd broken his arm and it didn't always lead where he wanted, though he had to admit he appreciated the assistance. He was left with very little doubt about her intentions, however, when her hand slipped under the elastic waistband of his pajama bottoms. "Mmm…you read my mind."

"As if that's ever a wrong answer." She withdrew her hand and stood, walking toward the bathroom. By the time he walked in, she was in the shower, standing under the spray. "Just let me do my hair and wash up. Then we'll do you."

"I like the sound of that." He needed time to relieve himself and tape a bag around his cast. He kicked up the toilet seat, taking some time to contemplate the consequences of flushing when he was done. Instead, he put the seat and lid down, washed his hands and prepared his cast. After a quick gargle with mouthwash, he asked, "Ready for me?"

"Just give me a minute…"

Ignoring her rebuff, he stepped into the shower to look at her. Her eyes were closed as she stood under the stream of hot water, running her hands over her body as she rinsed the soapy lather from her skin. He had trouble suppressing a groan as she spent more time than absolutely necessary on her breasts before her caresses slid down. His own free hand mimicked her movements on his own body and found that the stimulation of watching her had progressed in the usual way.

"Are we just going to stand here pretending this has to be a solo activity?" He made an effort to raise his eyes and saw that she was looking at him. "I heard you get in the shower, Tony."

"Oh, right." He stepped forward and the water cascaded over his shoulders as he kissed her. Her body pressed against his as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself into him. She turned him, setting his arm on the ledge. "Mmm, Ziva…"

"Relax for a minute. You need to wash up first."

"Tease."

"You love it." She nipped his earlobe before shampooing his hair. She stepped slightly further away. "What is it with you and the shower?"

"Guy thing," he explained, pulling her hips back toward him. "Makes us feel like our teen years were building up to something."

She tipped his head under the water. "So I take it you had a lot of practice then, yes?"

"No more than…" He stopped as the door creaked open.

"Ziva?"

They both froze as the unexpected voice echoed through the bathroom. She was the first to calm down enough to answer, "Michael? Is that you?"

"Yes. We are sweeping the apartment for listening devices. Is, ah, Tony with you?"

"Yes. What's going on?"

"I suggest you, ah, finish in the shower and meet us in the living room."

The door closed and Tony felt his excitement diminish rapidly despite the fact that Ziva was now hurriedly soaping his body. "Who was…"

"Officer Bashan." Her hands made quick work of his torso and back.

"So he's…"

"Moussad, yes." She was already down to his legs.

"In the living room?"

"It appears that way." She angled the showerhead to rinse him.

"You know I can manage this on my own, right?"

"This is faster." She reached behind him to turn off the water.

"This isn't going to be a normal Saturday, is it?"

"No." She wrapped a towel around his waist and placed his electric shaver in his hand. "Good thing we finished our apartment stalking last weekend, yes?"

He didn't bother to correct her. When they moved into the new apartment he was having every lock known to man installed on the door. The buzzing of his razor added to the noise from her hairdryer, making further conversation impossible.


	2. Chapter 2

Ziva was both in a hurry and in the mood to delay. As much as she wanted to find out why Michael had seen fit to enter without permission, she also knew that it couldn't be for any positive reason. In fact, there was really only one likely reason for the unexpected visit.

While shaving, Tony had suggested that it was some kind of surprise, "Like, for your birthday!"

"My birthday isn't for six months."

"That's why it would be such a surprise!" His face had been frozen in the most unattractive smile she'd ever seen it wear as he'd left the bathroom to dress.

Now he sat on the edge of the bed, adjusting his sling and waiting for her help with the buttons on his shirt. Dropping her wet towel on the floor, she grabbed the first two items she saw hanging in the closet, a ribbed long sleeve t-shirt and pair of khakis. The pants turned out to be Tony's. She groaned with frustration as she tossed them on the bed and sought a pair of her own pants.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" He was now standing at her dresser, swinging a matching bra and panty set in his outstretched hand. "Not that I'm complaining…"

"Thanks." She whipped the shirt off and attempted to put her bra on inside out. "Damn it!"

"Hey, hey…" He pulled the straps down her arms. "I'm good with helping at the things that involve taking one of these off."

She wrenched the garment from his grasp, hastily putting it on correctly and snappishly saying, "Yeah, I can manage."

"Hey, relax!"

"How can I relax? Somebody is coming to kill me!" Time stood still for a moment as they stared at each other. Tony looked shell-shocked. It was better that he hear it from her, but still…it hurt to say it out loud even, much less than to say it to him. She sank onto the bed, wrapping her arms around herself. She suddenly felt very underdressed in only her bra. She continued in a quiet voice, "Moussad doesn't interfere unless they perceive an imminent threat."

A light knock sounded on the door and she realized that someone had been listening. Michael's voice drifted into the room, "I do not mean to rush you, but if you could hurry."

"We'll just be another five minutes." She pulled her shirt over her head as Tony sat next to her, slipping his arm around her shoulders.

"Use the time to pack a traveling bag. Both of you." Something clunked on the floor outside the bedroom before footsteps receded down the hall.

Tony's embrace tightened as he kissed her temple. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Ziva."

She looked at him sadly. He had no idea what he was trying to promise. She couldn't even be sure, for that matter. "Thank you. Would you grab the bags Michael left in the hall?"

He gave her an incredulous look that was replaced by one of appreciation when he saw the two small suitcases. "How did you know?"

"I've had to do this before. For other people," she clarified. She retrieved an armful of clothes from the closet and dumped them on the bed. Pulling a zippered plastic insert from the suitcase, she handed it to Tony. "Could you put together our stuff from the bathroom?"

"Sure," he replied hesitantly, watching her as she began to stuff clothing into the suitcases haphazardly. "Am I gonna need any suits or anything?"

"This is just for a few days. They'll clear out the entire apartment and we should have access to our things in a week, at most." She carefully folded his blue shirt and placed it in one of the bags. "We probably won't be able to come back here, at least not for a while, so if you've got any hiding spots…"

"I don't," he answered quickly.

"Of course not. That's probably why my Uzis are in a pile in the back of the closet."

"Think we'll need assault weapons wherever we're going?" He gave her a genuine smile.

She returned it for a moment. "It isn't a question of _need_…"

He was shaking his head as he finally disappeared into the bathroom. She grabbed handfuls of socks and underwear from the dressers and squeezed them into the already full bags. She sat on one to compress it as she ran the zipper around it, repeating the process with the second. Her eyes scanned the room for another bag as she realized she hadn't packed any shoes.

Tony called from the bathroom, "Do you need your poofy spongey thing? Because it's still wet…"

"Forget it. Is there another bag in this room somewhere?"

"My gym bag is in the back of the closet. Haven't needed it much lately…" he trailed off as he exited the bathroom with their toiletries. "Wow. I guess I should have expected you to pack fast based on how little time you take to get ready in the morning. There are clothes for both of us in those?"

"Yes." She ducked into the closet, pushing his suits to the side. "Are you sure…never mind." She emerged with a small black duffle, into which she put her running sneakers and favorite boots. "Shoes?"

"Uh," he paused as he scratched his head after setting the bag he'd been carrying on one of the suitcases. "Well, whatever goes with what you packed for me, I guess."

"Seriously, which shoes do you want?"

"What kinds of things will we be doing?"

"Will you stop being difficult and pick a few pairs?"

He snorted with disbelief. "Difficult? You just told me that we're being evacuated to parts unknown and that we may never come back because someone is out to get you. Someone from Moussad has come into our apartment uninvited and interrupted us in the shower. All in all, I think I'm dealing pretty well."

"You know I would tell you if I could but I just don't know right now," she replied quietly. She tossed the duffle in her hands on the bed and approached him. Her fingers worked on buttoning his shirt as she held his eyes with her own. "Explanations once we're safe. Focused tasks for now."

"Very _Gone with the Wind_." He simpered and spoke with an overly affected accent, "I won't think about that today. I'll think about that tomorrow."

"After all, tomorrow is another day," she countered softly. They weren't fighting if he was talking about movies; she didn't have it in her to fight with him at the moment. She buttoned his cuff when he held up his arm for her and kissed the back of his hand. "I'm sorry you have to be involved in this."

"I'd rather be involved than left behind." He stroked her cheek. "I'll grab some shoes. And you bring the curtains in case you need a new dress!"

A few minutes later, Ziva wheeled the two suitcases down the hall and Tony followed, carrying the duffle in his good hand. "Michael, we're ready to…" she stopped when she spotted a familiar form inspecting the framed photos she had lined up on the piano. "Eyal! Adi told me you'd left for a mission, but…" Her friend approached and she kissed his cheeks, noting that he was no longer limping at all. "How's Dara?"

"Alternately sleepy and hungry." He stooped to pick up one of the suitcases by the handle. "How are you?"

Ziva immediately felt guilty. Whatever was happening, it was separating Eyal from his new daughter. "I'd feel better if I knew what was going on. Why are you even here?"

Bashan answered for him, "We thought Officer Dagan would be the only person from Moussad whom Tony would recognize and trust in the event that you were not here when we arrived. If you have not already done so, I suggest you gather any important documentation."

Ziva stooped to pick up the two NCIS backpacks in the hall closet. "We're all set."

"I will need to take your cellular telephones." Bashan turned off the phones when he received them and placed them in his inner suit pocket. "Now let us go. We really have wasted too much time here."

"Of course, sir." Eyal walked out first, with Ziva behind him. The phone began to ring as Bashan firmly closed the door.

She walked abreast with Eyal and whispered, "What's really going on?"

"They've only told me what Bashan just said."

"You'll never get that promotion if you don't learn to lie better, Eyal. You didn't come all the way from Tel Aviv just to make Tony feel better about this whole thing. Tell me what you know."

"He will do no such thing," Bashan interrupted as they arrived at the elevator. His head swiveled back and forth on his skinny neck as he surveyed the hallway.

"Did you find any bugs in Tony's apartment?"

"No, but serious security concerns remain. If you must chatter, I suggest talking about the weather until we arrive at our destination."

"Which is?"

Bashan propelled Ziva into the elevator, which had just arrived. "Not going to be discussed."

No one spoke again until they exited the front of the building, when Tony said, "Looks like it might rain." Ziva laughed in spite of herself. He grinned back. "At least I'm behaving."

"For once." She held his good arm as he climbed into the back of the black limousine that Bashan ushered them into as Eyal stowed their luggage in the trunk. The driver and a familiar man who refused to make eye contact with her, probably as a result of the beating he'd taken during their first and only encounter, were visible in the front seat before Bashan raised the partition. She watched the streets carefully as they passed quickly through the sparse weekend traffic. The neighborhood started to look more familiar. "You couldn't tell me we're going to the Embassy?"

The older man frowned deeply at her before turning to Tony. "I believe you are right about the rain. We have yet to be formally introduced. I am Officer Michael Bashan."

Tony shook his proffered hand awkwardly with his left. "Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. Tony. I guess it's…nice to meet you."

"I apologize for the circumstances, but," he shrugged, "I do not control the rain. May I see your watch, Tony?"

"Uh, okay." He held up his arm so Bashan could inspect the timepiece.

"Just as I thought," he muttered. Raising his voice, he continued, "Very nice."

"Thanks."

The car went over a series of speed bumps as it entered the underground parking garage. Ziva had been here on numerous occasions on Moussad-related business, but not recently. It looked like a new metal detector had been installed at the entrance. As they walked toward it, the garage door opened and two cars sped down the drive. Tony groaned as his Mustang slipped a gear and stalled gliding into a parking space, grumbling, "She doesn't like it when other people drive her."

"I didn't have any trouble," Ziva replied, patting his arm. "But I'm sure they'll be using my car if that makes you feel better."

"Using it for what?"

"Do not say anything more, Ziva," Bashan warned, shepherding them through the metal detectors and down a hall into the secondary lobby. He pointed to a door. "Dagan, take them to quarters…"

"I want answers _now_, Michael!"

He ignored Ziva, continuing, "…so they can drop off their things. Then bring them to the secure conference room." He looked pointedly at her. "It will give us time to set up the video link to Tel Aviv." He walked up a staircase without another word.

Ziva felt her stomach sink. "He wants both Tony and I there?"

Tony looked slightly hurt. "That's what he said. I think I deserve to know what's going on here, too."

She regarded him seriously. "If this concerned a mission that only Eyal and I were involved with, you wouldn't be invited." She hurried to catch Eyal, who was already walking down the hall. "Who made it out of Siberia?"

He turned when he reached a locked door. "Whoever it is, it's big. I've already had my house cleared and my family evacuated here. I can't believe they would be that concerned about just anyone."

She leaned against the wall for support as her knees began to feel weak. "No…he couldn't have…"

Tony, with a look of alarm, slipped his arm around her waist. "Who? Wait, are we talking about someone from the Molot?"

Eyal unlocked the door, revealing a room that looked like it had been copied from an expensive if slightly Spartan hotel. He set the suitcase he was carrying on the bed. "You can understand our haste and concern if Dmitri Tushkevich really did survive."

"Impossible," Ziva murmured with little conviction. She wondered how Gibbs lived every day with these kinds of feelings in his gut.

* * *

A/n: Eyal Dagan and Dmitri Tushkevich are characters from _No Good Deed_, so back-story is there. 


	3. Chapter 3

McGee went through the sequence of phone numbers for a fifth time. Ziva's cell phone. Tony's cell phone. Tony's apartment. He felt a brief burst of anticipation when the line connected, but it was quashed by the scratchy recorded message of the answering machine. "Hey, this is Tony. Leave your number and a message and I'll get back to you."

McGee waited for the beep. "Guys, pick up. If you're there, pick up. We're, um, starting to get a little…" he paused, unsure of how to define what was going on in the office at the moment. Gibbs was pacing back and forth angrily in the bullpen, taking long swigs from a coffee cup that had to be empty at this point. McGee had his own theory for why he couldn't get through to Tony or Ziva, but he wasn't about to share it with an angry Gibbs. It was probably the same idea he was having anyway. "Um, perturbed, I guess. So call us the second you get this message."

Gibbs stood directly in front of McGee's desk and slapped his cup down like it was a gauntlet being thrown in a challenge for a duel. "Well?"

He gingerly dropped the receiver into the cradle. "Still no answer at Tony's apartment and phones are going straight to voicemail." He wasn't forced to try to explain further as his cell phone rang. "Finally," he sighed, but was immediately disappointed by the caller ID. "Ducky, hey."

"Are you on your way yet? Mr. Palmer and I have already finished our exam of the unfortunate boy and none of you have arrived. Metro PD is looking a bit impatient with our continued loitering."

"We're a little shorthanded at the moment."

"Tony and Ziva are still AWOL, then? It _is_ Saturday. Perhaps they've decided to abscond for a romantic weekend in the country. Or perhaps a quaint bed and breakfast along the shoreline? The weather is rather good…"

McGee interrupted before the anecdote he could feel waiting in the wings made it to the forefront, "Did they mention going anywhere this weekend to you, Ducky?"

"Why would they tell me? I'm just thinking of some plausible reasons for their absence that don't involve adult situations, of which I'd rather not have mental images. Not that Tony and Ziva aren't attractive people, just that once you get that sort of thing in your head it becomes difficult to get it out. I'm sure you know what I mean."

McGee grimaced. Even though he'd deleted the pictures from his hard drive, the vision of Ziva topless on a French beach still popped up at the most inappropriate times. "Um, kinda. We'll be there ASAP." He pressed end and turned to Gibbs. "Ducky is all set and wants to know when we're coming."

He appeared to be holding his keys tight enough to leave permanent impressions on his palm. "Right. Grab Agent Lee and take the truck. I'll meet you at the scene."

"But I don't even know if Agent Lee," the closing elevator doors cut off McGee's protest, "is here." He gathered his gear and walked down the hall to Legal. He could appreciate that Gibbs was angry that Tony and Ziva had decided to ignore their phones in favor of…he cursed Ducky and his comment about creating enduring mental images.

Despite their good behavior during working hours, McGee had seen his colleagues acting less than professional on several occasions, including one evening he'd taken a date to Valentino's and spotted Tony and Ziva at table near the back. He'd spent almost the entire evening watching them, much to his date's chagrin. She had slammed the door in his face when he'd tried to kiss her goodnight and suggested he should go find the woman he'd been staring at and kiss her instead, refusing to listen to his contention about observing his co-workers. The idea that he'd been fascinated by another woman was probably less creepy. They hadn't even really been all that obvious, other than the hand-holding and the fact that Ziva had cut Tony's steak, although that was probably a result of his arm being broken as opposed to a romantic gesture. It wasn't as if she'd fed him. More than one bite.

Abby was right; he needed a girlfriend. She'd been right about the jealousy too. He wasn't envious of anything in particular, just the whole concept. Tony and Ziva looked so _happy_. If those two could manage to find happiness in a reasonably stable relationship, there was no valid reason it should be denied _him_. He just needed to meet the right person. What was the name of that girl he'd met at the book signing? Melissa? Michaela? "Michelle!" he exclaimed as he walked into Legal.

"What can I do for you, Agent McGee?" Lee's head popped up from behind a partition, causing him to jump. Maybe dating a woman named Michelle was the wrong way to go.

"Oh, I wasn't talking to…actually, I am looking for you, um, Agent Lee. Since you have experience on the Major Case Team, Gibbs wants you to assist at a crime scene today."

"Really?"

"We're a little undermanned today."

She nodded. "With Agent DiNozzo's injury, of course."

"There's that. And…um, why don't you just grab your gear and I'll meet you in the garage?" He resisted the urge to add something about Palmer being there when he crossed the hall and entered the elevator just in time for another unwelcome image to appear in his mind.

* * *

Gibbs felt the car skid on a patch of sand as he sped into a parking spot in front of Tony's building. Tony and Ziva's building. For the next six weeks until she moved to the new apartment that he would move into once his lease ran out. Gibbs sighed. The plan had been outlined in his basement over Scotch the previous week as a gesture of respect to his position on the team or some other damn reason. As long as they didn't make a habit of pulling whatever they were pulling now, he could care less if they moved into a houseboat and drifted up and down the Potomac – as long as they did their damn jobs.

He held the door for an exiting older woman who thanked him profusely and he pressed the call button for the elevator. He was more worried than he cared to admit to himself. He had yet to criticize either Tony or Ziva for inappropriate conduct; in fact, they'd toned down the innuendo to a level he hadn't seen since before Ziva had joined the team. If they'd chosen today to…it would be the first and last time.

The elevator had a piercing chime that seemed to rattle his fillings when the doors opened. He rode up, taking deep breaths to try to block out the sense foreboding that came over him as it ground to a halt. Arriving at the correct door, Gibbs began by pounding on it and announcing himself, "If you two are in there, you better open up."

When he received no reply, he tried the knob. Locked. He inserted two picks into the keyhole and fidgeted for a few seconds before feeling them catch. To his surprise, the door swung open. He inspected the jamb. If they were there the chain would have been pulled across; if they were out the bolt would have been locked in addition to the knob. He unclipped his holster and drew his weapon. "Tony? Ziva? Anybody here?"

He proceeded through the rooms, finding nothing out of place until he came to the bedroom. The closet was open and seemed to have a lot of empty hangars in it. He looked in several drawers and found them similarly pillaged. Popping his head into the bathroom, he saw virtually no personal hygiene products. Wherever they'd gone, it looked as if Tony and Ziva had left in a hurry. He tried to convince himself that it was an impromptu vacation and he should be mad at them, but the unbolted door wasn't sitting right in his gut. He was missing something.

Gibbs closed his eyes and tried to remember something, anything Ziva or Tony may have said over the past few days to indicate where they might have gone. Instead, a conversation he'd had with Tony several years before sprang into his head. He walked to the corner of the bedroom, stepping carefully as he felt for the squeaky floorboard. When he found it, he counted three boards to the left and used his knife to pry out the loose board. "Not bad, DiNozzo," he muttered, removing a slender metal container from the small space. He popped the lock and opened the lid to find a note and a small black velvet box. He read the hasty scribbles.

_Boss – Moussad is here. Don't know why. Please keep this safe for me. Tony._

Gibbs opened the small box and smiled at the unexpected contents. "Your funeral, DiNozzo." Pocketing the note and box, he slid the container back into the hole and replaced the floorboard.

* * *

Ducky sat on the bumper of his van with his arms crossed over his chest. He had spoken with Timothy almost twenty minutes previously and he was beginning to become seriously exasperated with Jethro's failure to materialize. He glanced at his watch. "Twenty-one minutes." He stood and raised his voice to be heard, "Mr. Palmer! Do you see them?"

He shrugged expressively from the corner fifty meters away where Ducky had set him on the watch. "Sorry, Doctor. I thought I saw the truck a few minutes ago, but it was a milk truck."

"Who on Earth is still having milk delivered in this day and age?" he queried rhetorically as he settled himself back on the bumper. "Perhaps it's going to a market," he reasoned. "Oh, but wouldn't it be nice to have a nice glass bottle of cold, farm-fresh milk on the front stoop in the morning."

"Not so good in the summer, Ducky."

He jumped off the bumper, adjusting his hat. "Ah, Timothy. And Agent Lee! So good of you both to join us." He looked to his left with a disappointed glare and shouted, "Mr. Palmer! Kindly remind me not to employ you as a lookout should we ever be sent on a reconnaissance mission!"

Timothy wore a sheepish expression. "Sorry we're so late. Is Gibbs angry?"

"I wouldn't know, as Jethro as yet to…aaah. Speak of the devil." Jethro was slipping his windbreaker on as he approached them. "Did Mr. Palmer and I somehow miss a massive traffic tie-up on the way to the scene?"

"Just tell me what we've got, Duck."

Ducky retrieved his clipboard from the front seat of the van and led Jethro to the body, covered by a white sheet the rippled in the slight breeze. "Did you manage to track down Tony and Ziva?"

"Nope."

"Well, do we have cause for concern?"

"Stick with stuff I'm sure we'll be allowed to discuss. Who's our dead guy?"

Ducky consulted his notes. There was no point in carrying on if Jethro had set his infernal mind on not talking. "Mr. Palmer, if you would." He gave his assistant a chance to remove the sheet before squatting next to Jethro to continue, "Seaman Carlton West, all of twenty years old. Cause of death appears to be three gunshot wounds to the chest from close range. Looks almost like it could be a professional job."

"That it?" He had been snapping pictures and moved to the other side of the body to complete the set.

"Well, I'd hate to step on any toes, but…" he glanced over his shoulder. "I'm sure young Timothy will share it with you in a moment."

"Spit it out, Duck."

"Yes, well, at the risk of having violated one of your sacred precepts, I took the liberty of placing the marker at the blood pool he's examining at the moment. It couldn't have come from our boy, as his shooting and death occurred in the very place we are crouching and he has no other obvious wounds. Perhaps his attacker or a second victim?"

Jethro stood and Ducky followed suit. "Metro searched the area?"

"Yes. They found no one else and no blood trail."

"Nice work, Dr. Mallard." He smiled ironically and took a few more pictures.

"Yes, well, perhaps Mr. Palmer and I can now be dispatched to ply our trade more efficaciously back at NCIS, hmm?"

"Yeah, go. We'll catch you back there." He waved his hand absently before walking away. "McGee! What've you got?"

"Indeed." Ducky shook his head. "Mr. Palmer! Don't you see enough of Agent Lee in your off-hours?"


	4. Chapter 4

Ziva bent low over the conference table, using a jeweler's loupe to inspect the digitally enhanced photographs in front of her. She tried to compare the images to those in her mind, but her usually dependable memory did not seem to be functioning at full capacity. It could have been that she'd yet to eat anything. Still, she didn't see anything in the pictures that lead her to believe that they depicted anything other than the corpse of Dmitri Tushkevich in a pool of blood on the dark hardwood floor of the house in Siberia where she'd put two bullets in his chest.

She bumped into Tony, hovering close at her elbow, when she moved down the table. "Sorry."

He didn't respond, but continued to watch her with the same sad expression he'd had since Eyal had told them there was a chance Dmitri was still alive. For his part, Eyal was across the table, studying the same images that Ziva was. Michael stood to the side, arms crossed over his chest in a gesture of silent impatience. Even more impatient was the man on the plasma screen, who interrupted Ziva's thoughts by clearing his throat every ten to fifteen seconds. After a particularly strident vocalization, she threw her hands up. "Abba! Stop it! I can't concentrate!"

"Ziva…"

"I'm sorry. _Director_," she corrected, trying not to sound petulant, "tell me again what you expect us to see in these pictures."

"You and Eyal were there when Tushkevich died. If anything looks out of place, you'd be the ones to notice," her father explained again, in virtually the same words he had used before. She sank into one of the chairs, rubbing her temples. They were getting nowhere. "Ziva, please. Make an effort. Think back to exactly what happened on that night."

"Early morning," she amended. A mental replay couldn't hurt. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and pictured the kitchen. Dmitri had come down earlier and she'd made a scene, pretending she was afraid of him and allowing him to comfort her. He'd gone to bed. She'd looked in on him every half-hour or so. She began to recite the scenes passing in front of her closed eyes, "I looked in on Dmitri at 0540 and he was sleeping soundly. I walked back to the kitchen. Eyal arrived just before 0600. We waited for the signal. When it came, we went upstairs. I told Eyal to wait outside."

"She left the door open so I could watch," he interrupted.

"Right." Ziva squeezed her already closed eyes shut further in an attempt to block out everything but her memories. "I was about to shoot him when the phone rang. It was Ivan telling us the bunker was under attack. Dmitri jumped out of bed, unarmed. He was trying to get dressed when he realized I was aiming at him. He told me he loved me, I told him I was sorry for that, he called me 'princess' and I fired twice. He didn't blink when he hit the floor. He was definitely dead."

Eyal resumed the narrative, "Ziva walked out of the room and I went in. I checked for a pulse, looked for any sign of respiration. There was nothing so I reported in. I may have also kicked him in the head a few times while I was on the radio," he finished awkwardly as he suppressed a yawn. Ziva had to smile at her friend's sense of loyalty.

Her father seemed unsatisfied. "Look at the photographs again. I want you to be absolutely sure that everything is as it was."

"We've been staring at the same images for half an hour." She really was starting to feel whiny. She stood and began to pace. "I've given you as positive an ID as I can from just photos."

"When you first looked at them, you said he looked different," he prodded.

"_Everyone_ looks different when they're dead," she protested. "From what I see in the photos, that's him. The scar on his chest is in the right place, the hair is right, the ring…" she trailed off and leaned over. There were multiple angles of the body, but she looked only at those focused on the upper left arm and torso, or, more accurately, on the blood pool surrounding those areas. She suddenly understood why she deserved to be pestered. She passed an 8x10 across the table. "Eyal, what do you see in this photo?"

"Dead guy. Blood pool." From his response, it was clear he'd only been making a show of paying attention to the photos for quite a while. He looked very tired.

She pushed, "But what should be there. Think back." The crisp images were playing in succession like a movie clip in her brain now. Dmitri fell to the floor, dead. She holstered her weapon and took a few steps toward the door. She paused to remove…

Eyal's face lit up with realization. "Your rings! Your wedding and engagement rings were in the blood pool just beside his left biceps. Where did they go?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. It isn't like someone from Moussad would have taken them. Besides, everyone had to know that I knew they were there and would notice that they were missing in the photographs."

"Eventually," her father grumbled from Tel Aviv.

"Why didn't we notice that earlier?"

Ziva took a moment to think about Eyal's question. She, for one, was pointedly trying to ignore the fact that she'd had such an intimate, if artificial, relationship with her target. She had little doubt that that was the reason for Tony's downcast mood. She pushed the thought of the rings out of her head and replied, "Probably because we were so focused on identifying the body. I can't believe it was disposed of without a proper autopsy."

"We had your identification and Dagan's," her father responded calmly, "and multiple witnesses saw the corpse, American and Israeli, including Director Shepard. Until the blood sample was processed we had no reason to doubt the body was Tushkevich."

Ziva spun to face the monitor. "Wait a minute. You had a blood sample? One that proved the body wasn't Dmitri's? That would have been processed weeks ago! How long have you known?"

"Now you are willing to believe the man in the picture is not Tushkevich?"

"Don't play games with me." Her mind raced, trying to reconcile the truth she knew now with the one she'd been so convinced of a few minutes earlier. "He didn't say much, certainly nothing exceptional. And he didn't grab his gun from under the pillow when he jumped out of bed. Did you find the gun? Monogrammed Walther P99?"

Bashan consulted a file on the end of the table. "There is no Walther listed in the inventory."

Ziva's stomach felt empty in a way that had nothing to do with her lack of breakfast. "His father gave him that gun. He wouldn't leave it." She ran her hands through her hair, circling the table. "Okay, assuming that the man I killed wasn't Dmitri, he had to be in the house somewhere, because I had a conversation with him two hours before the operation started, and that was _definitely_ him. He couldn't have survived if he left on foot and Moussad would have noticed if he'd taken a vehicle."

"Yes, we had constant surveillance on the house in the twelve hours leading up to the op," her father confirmed.

Tony interrupted, grabbing her hand to stop her as she walked by, "Hey, back up. You killed a guy. If he wasn't Tushkevich, who was he?"

"A look-alike Dmitri paid to fill in for him. He had the money to build his own if he needed one. Plastic surgery can really do wonders."

He looked at her doubtfully. "Sounds like a bad movie plot."

She shrugged, trying to play down the severity of the situation. "Moussad employs body doubles all the time. Some are just more believable than others."

"That reminds me…" Bashan trailed off. "If you would all excuse me, I have some business to attend to."

He left the room with no objection from the Director, who said, "To return to the matter, Ziva. Do you think it's possible Tushkevich had some sort of hideaway in the house where he remained concealed until we left?"

"How long was the house occupied?"

"No more than thirty-six hours. It was sealed and all operations were moved to the bunker after that."

"It is possible then, I suppose. But you still haven't answered my question. How long have you known he wasn't dead?"

Her father sighed. "The blood sample had been processed within three days. We had hoped it was just a problem with the chain of evidence. A great deal of material was transported from Siberia, and, as you can imagine, our greatest concern was the munitions."

Ziva followed his logic, but it was unlike Moussad to assume that something critical had been lost in the shuffle. She suddenly understood why their concern had mushroomed. "You've had people on the lookout and someone saw him."

"He was spotted entering Argentina."

Eyal snorted in disgust from his seat across the table, muttering, "Why is it always Argentina?"

"He couldn't turn to his clients; terrorists don't want to deal with an arms dealer who has nothing to offer them. He went to the one person who could help him."

"Nozdryov," Ziva provided.

"His father, yes. To our knowledge, Alexander Nozdryov never dealt with terrorists, just drug cartels. Not much better, but little of our concern. We kept tabs on him as a known arms dealer, mainly to be sure he did not expand his enterprises. He has been living outside of Buenos Aires for several years now, keeping quiet. His business seemed to pick up slightly when his son arrived one month ago."

Tony jumped out of his seat. Ziva had sensed his anger building for the past few minutes and she was glad he had exploded before she had; he wouldn't be cowed by her father. "A month, Abraham? You've known he was alive for a month and you're just telling us _now_? He could have come after Ziva at any time and you couldn't even warn us?"

"Would that have made your lives easier? Being constantly on edge? Wondering when Tushkevich would come after you both?"

"Both?" Tony raised his eyebrows and glanced at Ziva.

"Try to understand, Tony. We did not think he was a threat until he left Argentina on Wednesday. When we lost track of him in Europe, we decided to set things in motion. Your relationship with Ziva makes you a probable target." He suddenly muted the audio to converse with someone off screen in his office. Turning back to the camera, he said, "I must attend to other business. All of you, stay in the Embassy. Shalom."

He had terminated the connection before Ziva had a chance to say goodbye. She turned to Tony and Eyal. "Is that all? We sit here and wait for other people to take care of Dmitri?"

"That is exactly what you will do, Officer David." Bashan stood in the doorway. "I regret to inform you that you and Agent DiNozzo were killed in a car accident on the highway twenty minutes ago. And I doubt Officer Dagan will want to leave and abandon his wife and daughter here."

Ziva couldn't help herself from beaming at Eyal. "Adi and Dara are here?"

"Yes," Bashan answered for him. "I believe they are in the lounge, if you would like to go down to see them."

She was about to follow him when Tony quietly said, "Could Ziva and I have a few minutes in here, Officer Bashan? We need to discuss something."

"Take as long as you need, Agent DiNozzo."

They remained silent for a few moments after the door had been closed. She began, "I was so sure I'd killed him." He didn't return the embrace she gave him. "But this is going to be resolved soon and we'll be safe here in the meantime." He turned away and her lips made contact with the side of his neck. "Tony, please…"

"Tushkevich is still alive."

"Yes."

"You know what that means?"

"He has to die again. And stay dead."

He pushed her hands away and rapidly walked across the room, putting the table between them. "It means you're still married, Ziva. Tushkevich is still your husband."

Ziva was suddenly very glad the secure conference room was soundproof.


	5. Chapter 5

"Yes. Technically I am still married to Dmitri. Stupid me didn't want to give away the whole operation by having him sign divorce papers on the off chance that Moussad got all soft and mushy and let him go."

Tony leaned his weight on his left hand as he stared at Ziva over the polished wood of the conference table. She had that glint in her eye, the one that said she was angry and barely controlling her temper. The last time he'd seen it, he'd ended up with a broken nose. As on that occasion, he was once again unable to simply keep his mouth shut. "I don't like it."

"I don't like it either, but we won't have to worry about it once he's dead."

"If someone actually manages to kill him this time."

"Why are you being such a pessimist?"

"Because every time I kiss you, every time we…if we…look, I don't like the idea of sleeping with another man's wife."

"I'm only his wife on paper."

"Paper is legally binding, in case you've forgotten." Other than the fact that Tushkevich might be planning to kill them, that was the thing that giving Tony the greatest cause for alarm. He hoped Gibbs would get to his hiding place before anyone else did; losing that little box probably counted as a sign.

"It won't matter once he's dead."

"Yeah, well forgive me if I'm a little wary of that plan, seeing as how it worked so well last time." He sat too quickly in one of the wheeled chairs and his momentum pushed him away from the table.

He didn't try to scoot closer as she sat in the chair across from him and folded her hands on the table in front of her. Her voice was tense, her words carefully measured. "Tony, I am sorry that you are upset over what basically amounts to an administrative error. You know why I married Dmitri and you know what the ultimate result of that arrangement was. I don't love Dmitri. I won't be going back to him. And if he comes after me, I will kill him. What, exactly, is the problem?"

Instead of addressing the terrifying question, he settled on an accusation. "You always say Dmitri. You never call him by his last name like everybody else does. Why?"

"Habit."

"What about Mitya? Habit?"

"Yes. It's just the diminutive of Dmitri. I don't call you Anthony."

He cringed. "Don't compare me to him."

"Why not? That's why you're really upset isn't it? Because I ended up with Dmitri in the first place? Will you feel better if I reassure you that you're bigger and better in bed?"

"I'm not a child," he retorted. She was partially right. Although he could understand the reasons, he still didn't like the idea that she'd lived as Tushkevich's lover for three months. It still stung. "And don't treat me like I don't have the right to be upset."

"Didn't we already have this fight?"

"Yeah. I wasn't done, but you were still in the hospital and I just went with it when you said that it was over and done and if I wanted to be with you I just had to accept it and move on. Y'know, I think I actually had moved on, until today started and I find out you're still married to that arms dealing psycho!"

"Why are you so hung up on the marriage? It means nothing!"

"So are you cynical about marriage in general or just about this particular marriage?"

"Stop calling it a marriage! I was following orders. And anyway, I only married him for his nuclear weapons!"

He laughed in spite of himself, partly at her protest and partly because she hadn't read into his question. "I wonder if that's better or worse than being a gold digger."

"Fine. Make it all a big joke." She stood and walked toward the door. "For what it's worth I'm sorry you're stuck here because of the whole situation."

"Ziva, wait." He pulled one of the chairs beside him closer. "Please, just sit down. We don't know how long we're going to be here and I'd rather we talk it through now than have to walk on eggshells indefinitely."

"What happened to immature Tony?"

"You just kicked him to the curb, remember?" She smiled and sat in the chair he offered. He took her hand. "Look, I can't pretend I'm not upset that Tushkevich isn't dead, but I'm angry at him, not you. Because of him, I lost you for three months. I almost lost you for good. You can say whatever you want, but you're connected to him as long as he's alive."

"Tony, it doesn't…"

"I don't care that it doesn't mean anything. It bothers me. It's like I'm sharing you."

She tensed and pulled her hand from his. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Ziva, I just…"

"You don't trust me? You think if I do see Dmitri I might change my mind, say, "What the hell! He's still my husband, after all!'"

"I didn't say that." He floundered, looking for the right words. He knew he couldn't say the ones that kept popping up – _You were supposed to be mine from now on_. "I know you won't…we can just…if the…"

She stopped his babbling with a composure that surprised him. "Do you still have my letter?"

"The one I'm not supposed to open unless the worst happens?" He reached into his back pocket to remove his billfold. The heavily creased envelope was in the same place he'd put it a few weeks before, just after she'd returned from Israel. Placing it on the table in front of him, he wondered why he kept it on him. She'd asked him to give the letter back on several occasions and he had refused. What was he going to do if she really did die? Wait until she'd bled out and read the letter? Open it right after the doctor delivered his condolences? Say to Tushkevich, 'Hey, before you kill me too could I just look this over?'

Nausea threatened. He closed his eyes and turned away. Tushkevich was the one who was going to die. Not Ziva. "Take it. I still haven't read it."

She watched him with hurt in her eyes. "I want you to read it."

"Even though things have changed?" That had been one of her arguments when she'd tried to take it back – things were different.

"They had. Now they've changed again." She rose to leave. "I wrote that in Jen's hotel room in Paris right after I hit you. It explains some things. Please, just read it."

"You're right here. Why can't you just tell me?"

"Because I'm about ready to break your nose again and I don't think anything I say will be quite as…civil as what I wrote. I'm going to go find Adi." She closed the door softly behind her, leaving him alone.

He hesitated. The envelope lying on the table had become nearly sacrosanct. Opening it meant…but Ziva wasn't dead. She had granted him permission to read it. He carefully inserted his knife under the fold of the envelope and made a neat incision. The paper inside was folded in thirds. He removed it and placed it on the table.

He stared at it for ten minutes. It lay unevenly due to the many creases that had been added to the paper through handling and storage in pockets. Fifteen minutes. His mind was blank. There was no way to tell what was in the letter unless he read it, but he was nervous. She had written it as a permanent goodbye. He had to know. Unfolding the single sheet of white paper covered on one side with her small handwriting, he took a deep breath and read.

_Tony –_

_I just broke your nose. Sorry. If it makes you feel better, my hand hurts. I don't know when you're reading this, but I want you to know when it was written. I've asked Jen to give it to you in case my mission isn't resolved acceptably. I hope I died doing my duty; I could ask for nothing more than that._

_I owe you a better explanation for why I married Dmitri, but I can't give you that, beyond what I've already told you. I know you understand, even if you don't want to. I think the better thing to do will be to tell you why I wouldn't have married him if I'd believed that you were alive. _

_I don't know specifically when I started to love you. I think it took a while to build. I remember the moment I figured it out, though. We were in my apartment not long after I got out of the hospital. I still wasn't eating solid foods, and you started writing little messages in whipped cream on my Jell-O. One night you wrote 'Shaken, not stirred,' and I thought to myself, 'How did I manage to fall in love with such a goofball?' Then, instead of telling you the truth, I just rolled my eyes and called you a 'golf ball.' Truthfully, I haven't made a real English error in front of you in months. I've been faking because I like the look on your face when you correct me and I would have missed it._

_None of that is my point. You know I love you. I just told you. And I meant it. Then I ruined it. I want you to know that I would never have married Dmitri if I'd known you were alive. When the boat blew up, I was sure that I'd lost you and I panicked. Although it seems counterintuitive, I thought that I ought to just marry Dmitri to push my mission along since I was no longer thinking about getting married. _

_Yes, I admit it. I think about us like that. I don't tell you this to hurt you or make you feel guilty. I just want you to know that you're the one person I could really see in my future. I know I should have told you these things while I had the chance, but I would have gotten flustered and you would have made a joke and I would have gotten mad and we wouldn't have talked about it at all. But it would have been okay because that's the way we are and it works for us. We would have gotten there eventually, I think. Don't laugh. You're allowed to be sappy in a letter if you're dead._

_I hope we got a chance to say goodbye. I hope I got to look into your eyes and say, 'I love you.' Most of all, I hope you find someone who loves you as much as I do. You deserve it._

_Ziva._

Tony swallowed hard. He felt confident as he put the letter back in his wallet and left the conference room. He strode purposefully down the hall until he came to a dead end and found that he had no idea where he was going. He backtracked, going slowly and looking for things thought he recognized. He wound up in an unfamiliar wide hallway. He asked a passing man in a suit, "Could you tell me how to get to, uh, the lounge?"

"The ambassador's lounge or the guests' lounge?"

"The guests' lounge, I guess."

The man eyed him suspiciously. "Are you an official guest of the Israeli Embassy?"

"Well, yeah. I got here this morning. Uh, Officer Bashan made the arrangements."

"Then where is your identification?"

"Uh…" Tony blinked. He didn't have his NCIS credentials on him. He didn't have anything but his driver's license. He reached into his back pocket to get his wallet.

The man shouted, "Don't move! Security! Intruder!"

"No, I…" He could see three men rushing down the hall. How much of a threat could a guy with a broken arm be? "I'm just trying to find someone."

"Aha!" the man bellowed triumphantly. "An assassin! Who are you here to assassinate? Who sent you?"

As if on cue, Bashan appeared from nowhere. "Ah, Agent DiNozzo. I have been looking for you." He approached and clipped an ID badge to the strap of Tony's sling. "As you can see, Mr. Cohen, everything is in order. No need for alarm, men. Return to your duties." He smiled. "I believe I saw Officer David in the guests' lounge, if you would follow me, Tony."

"Uh, thanks." He paid careful attention as Bashan led him.

"I should apologize. The ambassador's personal secretary is an insufferable man and I am afraid I have used you to make him feel stupid. He always thinks he knows everything that is occurring within the Embassy. Perhaps a public embarrassment will teach him to mind his own business."

"Moussad's pretty big on the one upping, huh?"

"You have noticed? Of course you have. Small pleasures. Ah, we have arrived." He turned on his heel, leaving Tony on the threshold.

He paused in the doorway of the lounge. Ziva was sitting on a sofa off to the side with her friend Adi. She held the baby, Dara, in her arms, rocking her gently as she and Adi conversed. He walked over and stood in front of the two women. "Hey, Adi."

"Shalom, Tony. Would you like a few minutes?"

"No, that's okay." He sat beside Ziva without saying a word. She gave him a curious look and he smiled. Leaning close, he whispered, "I think about you that way too."

She pecked his lips. "Good. Now let's put a six month moratorium on any further discussion."

He relaxed against the sofa cushions, slipping his arm around her shoulders as Ziva resumed her conversation.


	6. Chapter 6

Gibbs parked his car in the lot and jogged into the building. With no witnesses to interview, the work at the scene had been completed fairly quickly, despite the shortage of manpower. He waved a hand over his head as he saw McGee and Lee round the corner in the truck and entered the building. The time it took them to log the evidence would allow him a quick conference with Jen. He wanted to brief her on the situation with Tony and Ziva. At least, he planned to tell her that he wanted to brief her; the last time Ziva had left unexpectedly on a Moussad mission, Jen had known in advance. He stabbed the button for the top floor when he entered the elevator, glad he had taken the time to stop for coffee on the way back to base.

Cynthia sat at her desk in Jen's waiting room, typing. He passed her without a greeting. "Agent Gibbs, you…"

He opened the door and entered a dark, empty office. He turned and nearly collided with Cynthia, who had followed him. "She out?"

"Yes, Agent Gibbs."

"When will she be back?"

"I don't know. She received an emergency call about a half-hour ago and left."

He crossed his arms, slipping his hand into his pocket to make sure Tony's note was still there. "Make sure you tell her I need to see her as soon as she gets back."

"I'll…"

He left the office before Cynthia had a chance to finish. Sipping his coffee in the elevator, he wondered if Jen were avoiding him. He hadn't been pleased the last time she'd informed him that Ziva had been recalled by Moussad. If she'd known that both Ziva and Tony were needed for a mission…but why would Moussad need Tony? Maybe it had been a spur of the moment thing and Moussad hadn't had time to do anything but pick up Ziva and ended up taking Tony as well to keep whatever it was under wraps. Maybe Jen was meeting with the Israelis right now to get the story. He stopped trying to put the pieces that didn't add up to a whole puzzle together as he entered the morgue. "What've you got, Duck?"

"Well, as you can clearly see," he held up his gloved, bloody hands, "we have yet to finish the autopsy. Mr. Palmer has marked the two bullets we have collected thus far, if you'd like to have a look." He pointed to two glass jars on a table before turning back to the body.

Gibbs held one up for examination, noting McGee's entrance. "Hmm. Looks like a .38."

"Yes. Seaman West was unfortunate enough to have all three bullets ricochet off ribs and tear up his innards. Of course, unfortunate is a relative term, as at least two passed through his heart. I doubt he survived to experience the pain of three bullets playing pinball in his chest."

Palmer paused with his hands in West's chest cavity. "That's a very colorful simile, Doctor."

"Metaphor," McGee corrected. "Dropped off the evidence in the lab, boss. Abby's already confirmed the fingerprints on our dead guy. Turns out Seaman West was arrested last month in relation to a drug deal. He was cleared of all charges, but one of his buddies wasn't so lucky. Maybe this is a revenge thing."

Ducky cleared his throat. "I'll be sure to let you know if any drug use comes up on the toxicology report. I should mention one thing that may surprise you – on the external exam, we found evidence of buggery and, sure enough, we found some genetic material to send on to Abby."

"Blood? Hair?" Gibbs asked.

"Semen."

"We know he's a seaman," McGee interjected.

"We found semen in his rectum," Palmer clarified.

McGee winced. "I guess my next question won't involve a request for a definition of 'buggery.'"

Gibbs grabbed McGee's shoulder and propelled him through the automatic doors. "Let us know when you find anything else, Duck."

* * *

Jenny Shepard stood on the highway embankment, hands buried deep in the pockets of her expensive overcoat as she pretended to listen to the Chief of Metro PD. It occurred to her that most people never got to see the surface of the road close up like this. Pebbles, bits of litter, reflective sparkles in the lines, skid marks – all were distinct and evident. She focused on three ants, systematically dismantling an apple core a foot away from the grassy median. Would the ants be doing that if the traffic were speeding past at a normal pace?

The two innermost lanes in both directions had been closed to accommodate the fire trucks, police cars and ambulances that had responded to the scene. Cars on both sides of the highway slowed even further as they passed, drivers craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the carnage on the strip of grass that descended into a drainage ditch between the north and southbound lanes. The billowing black smoke had long since ceased to be the sole indicator of the accident.

The passing motorists were spared the sight Jenny was seeing. Twenty feet below, men worked to extricate two charred bodies from the small, burned-out car that had exploded at some point after it had hurtled off the road. Eyewitnesses had reported that the was car weaving in and out of traffic at high speed and eventually swerved to avoid a collision, skidded on patch of sand and careened into the ditch. Metro's ME had assured Jenny that no one could have survived the crash and it was likely the driver and passenger had been killed instantly.

A man in a blue windbreaker, not dissimilar to those her own agents wore at crime scenes, labored up the steep embankment. He took a moment to catch his breath, bent over with his hands braced on his thighs, before approaching. "Chief? We found some IDs."

He handed two plastic bags to his superior, who handed them to Jenny. "Those your people, Director?"

She inspected the nearly identical contents of the bags. Though soot-covered and charred, the names on the NCIS identification cards were legible – Anthony DiNozzo and Ziva David. Their badges were surprisingly untarnished. Jenny handed the bags back. "I need to make some calls. Then we can discuss having the scene and evidence turned over to NCIS."

* * *

Gibbs tapped the key McGee had told him to hit, but the screen didn't change. He tapped it again, more forcefully. He finally just slammed his fist on the keyboard. Seaman West's telephone records appeared on the screen like magic. "Nothing to it," he muttered.

It was taking longer than usual to track the victim's last movements. He had gone on liberty Friday night, taken some money from an ATM and used his cell phone once to call a cab, which had taken him from one bar to another. He hadn't left any other obvious electronic tracks between midnight and his death, sometime around four in the morning.

McGee thanked the person he was talking to on the phone and hung up. "Nothing from his CO. Other than the drug charge, he was a model sailor, well liked and hardworking. I didn't bring up the whole gay angle, but he gave me a list of guys West hangs out with. They're all on base this weekend."

"Good. Let's get over…" he abruptly turned and picked up the ringing phone on his desk, "Gibbs."

"Agent Gibbs? The Director is back and she wants to see you and Agent McGee in her office immediately."

"We'll be right up, Cynthia." He pointed to the stairs. "C'mon, McGee."

"Where are we going?"

"Detour." He had yet to tell McGee about the note he'd found in Tony's apartment. He decided to hold off until they were in Jen's office. Cynthia waved them in with no pretense. McGee closed the door behind them and Gibbs began, "Jen, we may have a little…you look terrible."

She didn't protest, rising from her desk and indicating her conference table. "Have a seat, Jethro, Tim."

When she had settled into a chair and remained silent for some time, Gibbs said, "We couldn't reach Tony and Ziva this morning."

She nodded, staring at the table. "Y-yes."

"Do you know something about that?"

"I do."

Gibbs leaned back in his chair. "Well that's just great. How often are you gonna let Moussad sweep in and disrupt my team?"

Jen looked up in alarm. "Jethro, what are you…"

"I stopped by DiNozzo's apartment on the way to the scene this morning and I found this." When he pulled the piece of paper from his pocket, the box tumbled out as well, rolling gracelessly across the table.

She had picked it up before he could stop her. "What is this?"

"That's not important. This is." He attempted to trade the note for the box, but she took the paper and kept the box. He sighed. It would have come out eventually. "I found those in a spot DiNozzo once told me he keeps sensitive stuff. They're with Moussad."

Jen read the note and opened the box. McGee let out a low whistle when he caught a glimpse of its contents. "Wow. Wouldn't have expected that so soon."

"Yeah, well…whatever Moussad is up to, you know, don't you, Jen?" To his surprise, she set the box on the table and brushed a tear away. "No need to get so emotional over it…"

"Tony and Ziva are dead, Jethro."

A strange buzzing filled his head. "What?"

She nodded. "I got a call earlier that Ziva's car had been involved in a fatal crash. I've been at the scene. It was…they were killed instantly, but the car caught fire and…" She closed her eyes, her brow contorting into a tight mass of furrows. She took a few deep breaths and continued, "Metro has agreed to let us handle the investigation. I've called for a team from Norfolk to handle the…"

"No."

"Jethro…" Jen voice held little challenge.

"They're my people. We'll handle it." He stood, pocketed the box on the table and pulled a stunned and slumping McGee from the room with him.

On the stairs, McGee seemed to lose all semblance of composure. "Gibbs, can I have a minute?"

"You don't need it Tim. They aren't dead."

"But the Director said…"

"You listen to what _I_ say, Tim. They aren't dead and we're going to find out why someone wants us to think they are." His gut seemed to pulse with a regular rhythm. _Moussad. Moussad. Moussad._

McGee swallowed hard and nodded. "If you're sure, boss."

"I am," Gibbs lied. He was not losing two team members.


	7. Chapter 7

Ziva traced little circles on Tony's chest with her fingertip, watching it rise and fall at a decreasing rate. They'd lasted in the lounge for no more than ten minutes before a shared look had prompted Ziva to hand Dara carefully to Adi. Tony had attempted to lead her back to their room, but, not being familiar with the Embassy, had gotten lost. Ziva had tried to make him pay attention to the route they took once she assumed the lead, but his attention had been fixed elsewhere. Only her constant warnings about the security cameras had kept them clothed until they'd reached their room. Now, almost an hour later, he held her in a warm embrace, watching her with sleepy eyes. "You are amazing."

"Mmmm." Her lips pressed against his shoulder and neck, her hand now stroking the length of his torso. "Mmmmmm."

"Y'know, the proper response is, 'You're incredible, too, Tony.'"

She stretched her neck so she could kiss his lips. "I thought the screaming would have given that away."

She felt the vibration in his chest through her hand as he laughed. "I'm surprised security wasn't alerted."

"They probably saw us on the stairs."

"Or in the hall." He yawned. "At least it's not like they can just kick us out."

They both looked left in alarm as the phone beside the bed rang. Ziva glanced at the caller ID and realized it was coming from the room next door. At least whoever they'd disturbed had been polite enough to wait and not interrupt. She answered it tentatively, "Yes?"

"Ziva? Are you guys done for now?"

She sighed with relief when she heard Adi's voice. "I thought you were in the lounge."

"I was. Eyal was taking a nap and came down to warn me not to come up, but I really need to put Dara down for a nap before lunch. So I was just hoping you guys could keep it down for an hour or so."

She glanced at Tony, who was now dozing lightly. "Not a problem. It's Tony's naptime too."

"I'm sure. I'll meet you in the lounge and we can continue our conversation."

"Yeah. Five minutes?"

"See you down there."

Ziva hung up the phone and wriggled out of Tony's embrace, waking him. "Where you goin'?"

"You'd know if you'd stayed awake and eavesdropped."

"For the last time, I don't speak Hebrew," he complained.

"Oh, right." She hadn't really been conscious of the fact that she'd been speaking Hebrew on the phone. She'd been doing that a lot when she tried to have a conversation with both Adi and Tony, slipping into the language they found most comfortable and forgetting that he found it completely foreign. "Well, I'm just going to the lounge. Sleep. I'll wake you when they start serving lunch." She leaned down to pull the covers over him. He caught her arm and tried to pull her down on top of him. "Tony, I need to get dressed."

His hand was the only part of his body that didn't seem utterly exhausted. "That's a shame."

"Get some rest." She gave him a wet kiss to distract him as she escaped his grasp. "You'll need it for later."

He clearly found her assertion acceptable. "M'kay." He had fallen asleep before she'd finished dressing.

She closed the door quietly behind her and made her way downstairs to the lounge, where Adi was already waiting for her. She patted the sofa cushion beside her and raised an eyebrow. "So I take it he wasn't scared off?"

Ziva grinned as she sat. "Just the opposite."

"So when can we expect a wedding invitation?"

"Don't push it, Adi. All we've really done is agree to discuss it in a few months."

"Still, you've already decided to move in with him for good and the two of you have been together, what? Less than six months?"

"True, but it's not like he's someone I just met and started dating a few months ago. We were friends for a good while and I know him." She pushed a few tresses behind her ear. "I trust him."

"Right, because players always just change overnight."

Ziva raised an eyebrow and gave her friend a look of defiance. "Do you really want to use that argument? Because I've got a really convincing example of a Don Juan turned family man that even you can't reject."

"I know where you're going and it is not the same thing. Eyal was nineteen when you introduced him to me and just because he slept with every girl in your secondary school class doesn't mean he was going to be that way his whole life. Tony is in his thirties. He's been at it a lot longer and the longer you've been doing things one way, the harder it is to change."

"Which is why it took over a year for anything to happen between us. I made it clear from the very beginning…" Ziva trailed off. The first few weeks had actually been charged with innuendo, right up to their undercover mission when she'd set up limits that she was immediately tempted to break. The test had been absolutely unfair, but she'd wanted a way to assess both his physical assets and self-control; she'd been amply impressed by both in the hotel bed. She still suspected that he'd been somewhat savvy to the whole thing from the beginning or, at the very least, eagerly curious. After all, what kind of real married couple ripped each other's clothes off the second they were alone? If they'd really wanted to make it believable, she'd have suggested they fight about what time to have dinner, with generous sprinkling of 'You think I'm fat's.

She blinked hard. Was that what was going to happen to them when…if… Adi was shaking her shoulder. "Ziva? Are you okay?"

"Oh, fine. Sorry. I just started thinking about, hm, something else. What was I saying?"

"You were claiming that you were clear about what you wanted with Tony from the very beginning."

"Right. Well, I flirted mercilessly at the _very_ beginning…but the idea that he might be worth more than that hit me eventually. We got to a point where he knew that I wasn't just interested in sex. He's changed since I met him. Wait. Why are you being so negative about me and Tony?"

Adi stood and began pacing, wringing her hands. "Look, Ziva, you're my best friend and I want you to be happy. I know you two love each other and that's great, but are you sure you can deal with actually living with him? For the rest of your life? What if he decides one day that one woman isn't enough for him anymore? I mean, do you really see him as the father of your children?"

"Is _that_ what this is all about? You know, just because having a baby made you the happiest person on Earth doesn't mean that everybody else now needs to experience that kind of joy for themselves."

"Ziva, I didn't mean…"

"No. I love Tony and everyone but you is happy for me. Even my father thinks this is a good thing! I know that you don't like him, but I'm not asking you to be his best friend, too. I just…can we just drop this?"

"Fine," Adi huffed, sitting back on the couch. "I have faith in your judgment and I'll try to give him a fair audition."

Ziva doubted her friend's sincerity, but accepted the concession with a grain of salt. "I won't mention the fact that it was _you_ who encouraged me to give the whole living together plan a chance. Can we talk about something else?"

"Maybe. Will it be less controversial if I ask what you plan to do about the religious differences?"

"Oh, sure. Then you can be a Yankees fan and I'll be a Red Sox fan and we can discuss the dominance of our respective starting rotations." Ziva had to admit that one of Tony's less endearing qualities was his insistence that watching SportsCenter was the same as watching the news.

"I have no idea what you just said."

"Never mind." She had just been trying to stall. Adi's question was one she had yet to consider. She fiddled with her necklace. "I don't think I really care. I'm pretty sure he doesn't. I'd feel funny asking him to convert or something."

"Because you don't practice and you'd feel like a hypocrite?"

"There's that, but mainly I'd feel guilty making him give up bacon, sausage and pepperoni. I swear, if it came from a pig, he wants to eat it."

"I am never going to understand how you ended up so crazy for this guy."

"I thought you said you were going to try."

"I am, but you tired him out so I can't work on that right now. Can I ask you one more question?"

"Do I have to answer it?"

"Yes." Adi paused and Ziva fidgeted under her scrutiny. "What are you using on your hair these days? Because it is so soft…"


	8. Chapter 8

Jenny walked slowly down the hall, avoiding the looks she was getting when whispering agents fell silent as she passed. No formal announcement had been made, but the rumor mill wasted no time circulating police band reports of the deaths of two NCIS agents. For the time being, the only people in the building who knew the identities of the agents were she, Gibbs and McGee. And Cynthia. Jenny had left her assistant with the task of drafting a memorandum for the agency while she, Jenny, told a few more people in person.

As much as she dreaded having to see Ducky and Abby's faces when she informed them of Tony and Ziva's deaths, she couldn't justify allowing them to find out from a piece of paper any more than she could have allowed Gibbs to tell them by proxy. He was probably going to try to convince them Tony and Ziva weren't dead based on the note Tony had left him. She paused to look over the railing of the catwalk. Gibbs and McGee sat at their desks in the bullpen, working. She couldn't tell if they were throwing themselves into their current case or into tracking their teammates' last movements. Gibbs wasn't going to stop hoping until he was satisfied and they would be able to confirm the deaths once the bodies arrived. She checked her watch, deciding she had half an hour before Metro's coroner would arrive with two badly burned bodies.

It was possible that Gibbs was right. In an attempt to think positively as she stepped into the elevator, she tried to convince herself that it was all a big mistake but succeeded only in determining that telling people here would help ready her for the inevitable teleconference to Tel Aviv. Gibbs hadn't seen the scorched car or the partially melted ID cards. Or the nearly unmarked badges. Her stomach remained on the top floor as the elevator descended.

A dead body was the only thing present in the morgue when she entered several minutes later. Its chest lay open, providing a macabre window into the corpse's torso. She looked down, wondering what Ducky had found when he had examined this body. Her eyes were drawn to the face of the young man who had most likely died before his time, just like… She squealed as a hand settled on her shoulder. Spinning, she attempted to reach for a weapon she wasn't even carrying. She calmed down almost immediately. "Damn it, Palmer, don't do that."

He seemed even more agitated than she had been a moment before. "D-Director? Can I help you with something?"

"Is Dr. Mallard here?"

"Oh, he just stepped out to the men's room. He should be back in a minute."

"Hm." She considered for a moment. She didn't know Palmer very well, but he interacted with Tony and Ziva regularly. Of course, Ducky would share the news with him, sparing her the task of delivering bad news to one more person. She took a deep breath. "Ask him to meet me in the conference room, please." She could use the time to collect Abby and just tell the two of them at once. Her mouth betrayed her, "You come too." Three of them at once.

* * *

"Hey. Wake up."

"Ungh…five more minutes, babe."

"It's lunchtime."

"Really?"

"Oh, that gets you right up."

"Heh. That was going to be the problem if you wanted what I thought you wanted."

"Tony, when I said tonight, I meant tonight. Not later today, tonight."

"You actually just said I'd need energy for later. Later could be right now."

"That was all I said? In that case, we'll hit the gym downstairs after lunch. I'm sure you can manage the recumbent bike and some leg machines at the very least."

"Come on…"

"Hands off and get dressed. We missed breakfast and I'm starving."

"Me too."

"To…"

"Mmmm?"

"Mm…mmmm."

"Hmhmhm…now tell me again what you're hungry for."

"…"

"Exactly."

"No! Get out of bed and put your damn pants on. I was just trying to decide whether I was in the mood for a salad or a sandwich."

* * *

Ducky rested his elbows on the table, wondering if it were proper etiquette, although it was a conference rather than a dining table. He adjusted his position, settling his folded hands in front of him just as the door opened to admit Jennifer and Abigail. They sat and Jennifer began, "Let me just begin by saying that I wish I didn't have to call you all here to talk about this. It isn't a duty I relish, but you deserve to hear it personally rather than from a secondary source, especially as it concerns all of you. This kind of thing is never easy to say, but I think the easiest way is just to tell you." Ignoring the irony in her words, Ducky waited for Jennifer to continue.

After what felt like an eternity, he felt the need, as the senior employee present, to prompt her, "Please tell us, Director."

Jennifer looked up from the spot on the table she had found so fascinating and stated, "Tony and Ziva were killed in a car accident this morning. Metro has agreed to turn everything over to us and I can have people here to deal with the forensics this afternoon if you would be uncomfortable with…it won't be a problem if you want to excuse yourselves from this case."

Abigail responded before Ducky could, "That's really not funny." She leaned back in her seat and glared at Jennifer. "You shouldn't go around saying things like that because people will get mad when they find out it's a joke and you've messed with their feelings."

"Abby, please just listen to me. I would never make a joke of…"

She stood, her pigtails swinging madly and she shook her head. "No, _you_ listen to _me_, Madame Director. Tony and Ziva aren't dead because…I need to get to my lab to figure that out, so if you could all excuse me…" She tried to slam the door as she left the room, but the pneumatic hinge took all the emphasis out of the act.

Ducky reached forward to lay a comforting hand on Jennifer's. "She's just upset. This is…a bit of a shock."

Her eyes were teary as she looked up. "You've got a gift for understatement, Ducky."

"Yes, well…" He didn't know what else to say. Jennifer was clearly having her own difficulties. He made a firm decision to be angry later. "I'll speak with Abigail. And you can rest assured that Mr. Palmer and I would absolutely refuse to see any other team do our work in this particular case."

He looked to his assistant, who nodded vigorously. "Yes, Doctor. We…we owe them that much."

Ducky smiled kindly, proud that his tutelage had led to something more than efficiency in the morgue. "Chin up, Jennifer. It's…" He felt an odd catch in his throat. "It's what Tony and Ziva would want."

* * *

"Man, we are gonna have to eat here even after we're not in protective custody. This is a kick ass roast beef sandwich. Too bad that lady wouldn't put any cheese on it for me. I guess they were out."

"She wouldn't serve it that way because it's not kosher, Tony. Anyway, I'm thinking about getting a hybrid."

"A hybrid car?"

"Yes. Maybe a Civic or a Prius."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean…I didn't mean it like that, Ziva. I just meant…well, I'm sure you're going to go to the Honda dealership with every intention of getting the Civic hybrid, but then you're going to see the souped up one with the spoiler and bigger engine and low-profile tires and disc brakes on all four wheels and you're gonna buy that one because you secretly want to be a street racer."

"I do not want to be a street racer. I'm well aware that life isn't like that movie with that muscle-y bald actor you don't like."

"I have nothing against Vin Diesel. My problem was with you telling me I could look more like him if I laid off the pizza. But back to your little dilemma…get something that goes fast because you'll be miserable otherwise and I don't like it when you're unhappy."

"That would be sweet if it weren't so self-interested. Hm, perhaps you're right. I like that Nissan Z car."

"350Z? Yeah. It would have to be the coupe and not the roadster, but…wait a second. Why are you getting rid of your Mini?"

"Ssh. Adi's coming. If she hears I'm getting a new car she'll try to convince me I'll need a minivan to accommodate the children."

"Brakckcck…"

"It's her idea, not mine. Stop choking. She'll just want to Heimlich you."

* * *

McGee hadn't formed a coherent thought since sitting at his desk after Director Shepard's announcement. He knew what the feeling inside him meant and he knew how to let it out; however, he was unable to formulate a plan that would allow him to do so. It presented itself the minute Gibbs said, "I'm going for coffee, Tim." As soon as the elevator doors had closed, he calmly stood and walked to the bathroom. He was methodical in taking several paper towels from the dispenser and placing them on the floor in front of the toilet in the large handicapped stall. The lock on the door was broken, so he pulled it shut. It didn't swing open again.

He turned on his heel and took a step. His plan had also specified kneeling prior to reaching his goal, but his stomach did not comply, forcing him to pitch clumsily down and forward as he gave in to the nausea that had been threatening for the past twenty minutes. He waited for the toilet to flush before crossing his arms on the seat and leaning his head against them. Although he was fairly certain his stomach had surrendered all of its contents in the first few retches, his gag reflex refused to relax.

A voice echoed off the tile as the door slammed against the wall. "It's the ladies' room, Ducky! You can't follow me in here! And don't you dare try to get Agent Lee to…" Abby paused as he vomited again. "Who is that? Who are you and why are you in here?"

"In here." He reached behind himself and unlocked the stall door, barely leaning forward again in time.

"Tim? Oh, God, Tim. It's true isn't it?" She sank to the floor beside him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"Gibbs doesn't believe…" He was unable to complete the thought as he was overcome again. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. There were supposed to be bad guys he could go out and shoot. No, arrest. No. Shoot.

Abby continued her awkward embrace. "Sssh. Sssh, Tim. You don't have to say anything."

He sat up and wiped his mouth with his hand. "Gibbs doesn't believe the Director, but she was at the scene. He thinks…but she saw…" He lurched forward again, unable to comprehend why, out of all the non-fatal times Ziva had been on the road, this had been the one time she hadn't maintained her precarious control over the vehicle. Maybe Gibbs was right. His stomach was unconvinced.

Abby's embrace and stream of words continued, "It's gonna be okay, Tim. Sssh. It's gonna be okay…"

* * *

"Okay, Adi's gone so you can tell me why you _really_ want a new car because I know you love that stupid little Mini."

"Haven't you been paying attention? I'm going to need a new car because mine is gone."

"It's in the parking garage. We saw both our cars pull in right after we got here."

"Yes, and then Michael asked if they should use mine. And later, while we were in the conference room, he stepped out for a few moments and when he came back he told us we we'd been killed in a car accident."

"How did I not hear that?"

"You were focused on…"

"Never mind, I remember. So they wrecked your car?"

"Uh huh. Probably staged a single-car accident with an explosion to make the bodies less recognizable."

"Whoa, real bodies?"

"Most likely recent corpses that fit our body types well enough. They'll use jewelry and our IDs to make the initial confirmations."

"That's why Bashan wanted to see my watch? Okay, but that will only last for five minutes before they start looking at our teeth."

"Moussad will have found a way to fake our dental records and probably DNA too. When Moussad says someone is dead, they're dead. That includes us for the moment."

"So all our friends think we're dead?"

"Yes. It's only temporary. What's wrong?"

"It doesn't seem fair."

"Is it any less fair than us being stuck here?"

"Yeah. We know that they're okay. They think they're never going to see us again. How do you think McGee feels right now? Or Ducky? Or Abby?"

"Or Gibbs?"

"I'd rather not think about him. He's probably pretty pissed at us for dying. I hope he doesn't do anything drastic before our miraculous resurrection."

"Such as?"

"Well, I think he has yo-you know, never mind."

"No, tell me. What does he have?"

"It doesn't matter right now."

"Tony?"

"Drop it."

"Fine. Are you going to finish your sandwich?"

"I think I lost my appetite."

"They'll understand when this is over."

"And how long will that be?"

"I don't know. Until Dmitri is dead, I assume."

"Is that why you let me read your letter? Because we're technically dead?"

"No. I just thought we were at a point where I wouldn't mind you knowing what it said while we were both alive."

"Hm. Well, we'd better enjoy it while it lasts because Gibbs is gonna kill us when he finds out we're not dead."

* * *

Gibbs regretted lying to McGee, but coffee was the last thing on his mind at the moment. He zigzagged recklessly through traffic, unsure of the exact route to his destination. The flag ended up being obvious. He parked on the curb, oblivious to all signs. Flashing his badge to the Secret Service agents who met him, he proceeded directly into the lobby of the Israeli Embassy. He asked for a piece of paper and a pen at the desk. Finishing his note, he said to the man seated at the desk, "Give this to your top Moussad man and tell him that NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs is here to see him."

The man looked at him suspiciously. "Please have a seat. It could be some time before…I will see what I can do."

"I'll wait." Gibbs sat in one of the chairs in the lobby. The feeling in his gut pulsed, seeming to move the small box in his inner jacket pocket.


	9. Chapter 9

Michael Bashan dropped the telephone receiver into its cradle, feeling frustrated. Up until this little snafu, the hastily laid plans had been going smoothly. Now it almost looked like everything could fall apart at any moment. Director David was not at all pleased with the turn of events and had not minced words during the phone call that had just ended. He was unwilling to consider any plan that didn't result in his daughter being safe and out of the way until Tushkevich was killed, a strategy about which Bashan had doubts. The Director's personal attachments were clouding his judgment; he would never be so hesitant to use such perfect bait in any other case.

Bashan immediately felt guilty. He couldn't expect David to sacrifice a family member any more willingly than he would endanger one of his own. Still, if one reached a point where one was unable to make the difficult decisions, one owed it to all involved to leave the decision-making to someone else. The mutiny remained locked away in his thoughts as one of his subordinates knocked on his door. Without looking up, he asked, "Is it important?"

Officer Oren Seir walked slowly into the room. "Sorry to disturb you, sir, but there's an NCIS agent in the lobby asking to speak with you."

Bashan's head shot up in surprise. "Did he ask for me by name?"

"No, sir, but he did give this to the secretary." Seir handed him a note on Embassy stationary. "I was intending to deal with him myself since you are so busy, but I reconsidered after I read it."

Bashan scanned the single line of the note, _I'm here to find out why you're lying to us about Ziva David and Anthony DiNozzo. LJ Gibbs._ He swallowed hard. "How long has he been waiting?"

"No more than ten minutes."

"Have Officer David or Agent DiNozzo tried to make contact?"

"The phone in their room can only be used to make calls within the building and they have no communication devices. I took the liberty of checking our monitoring frequencies and no unauthorized transmissions have been made since their arrival, nor were any calls made to NCIS or numbers registered to NCIS cell phones or users."

"So it is possible he is simply reaching." He picked up his phone and requested a secure line to Director David's office. "Wait fifteen minutes, then have someone show him up. Seir, I want you to personally make certain that Officer David and Agent DiNozzo do not leave the guests' accommodations while Agent Gibbs is in the building."

"Confine them to quarters?"

"Their room and the lounge. Just tell them it's for an hour or so until I can speak with them again. We need to keep them out of sight until they leave the Embassy."

"Yes, sir." Seir hesitated. "And what if Officer David is unwilling to comply?"

Bashan smiled in spite of the situation. Seir had been on edge from the moment he had found out that Ziva was going to be staying at the Embassy. Their first and only meeting had been uncomfortably memorable for him. "Try to hit her first and hope your backup arrives before she recovers."

"Yes, sir."

The phone rang softly as Seir closed the door. "Yes?"

"I have Director David's office on the line, sir."

"Put him through." A click was followed by silence. He should have expected this. There was no such thing as a direct line to David. As much as Bashan disliked the banal music he was often forced to listen to while on hold with many American agencies, he always knew the line was still connected.

A second click transferred him to David's secretary. "Officer Bashan? I'm transferring you now."

He was unable to thank her as a third and fourth click connected him to David. "What's wrong, Bashan?"

"Gibbs is here. He suspects they're alive."

"I've been ignoring Shepard's calls for the past hour. We need to admit _something_…"

Bashan placed the phone down ten minutes later. He peered into the mirror in his office. The lack of sleep had deepened the circles under his eyes. If he drooped his eyelids enough, the effect of sadness was quite convincing. He ruffled his well kempt hair slightly and sat behind his desk as a knock sounded on his door. "Yes?"

"Agent Gibbs from NCIS to see you, sir."

He stood and reached his hand over his desk as Gibbs entered. Bashan had never met the man, but recognized him from their records. "Agent Gibbs. I am Officer Michael Bashan. I regret that we have to meet under such circumstances."

Gibbs shook his hand, shrugging. "Just tell me why you need us to believe Tony and Ziva are dead and we'll do whatever we can to maintain the charade."

"I am afraid it is no charade, Agent Gibbs."

"C'mon. You and I both know that they're fine and you've got them stashed somewhere. You don't have to give me details, just give me a general estimate on how long they'll be gone."

"They're dead. They cannot come back."

"You guys at Moussad have some nerve, you know that? You think whatever you're doing is automatically more important that whatever anyone else might gave going on." His tone was gradually changing from one of good-natured banter to serious dispute. "I don't like when members of _my team_ are taken away from their jobs with no warning. I like it even less when I get a cock and bull story about them being dead to cover up your tracks."

"Agent Gibbs, I assure you…"

"There is only one thing you need to do for me right now. You either get my people in here or you get them on the phone. Very simple."

"I wish it were." Bashan removed his glasses and rubbed his hands over his face roughly. "Although your instinct that Moussad is involved is correct, your suppositions based on that not. I can tell you nothing more."

"Not good enough."

"It will have to be."

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what I came to hear."

"Then you will be here for quite some time. Would you care for a cup of coffee?"

"Sure."

Twenty minutes and two cups of coffee later, Gibbs continued to glare at Bashan, who decided he his feint had lasted long enough. "You really will not leave?"

"No."

"I could easily call security."

"You didn't even have to let me in."

"No. I suppose…" Bashan hung his head, calling up an image of his son's funeral. His eyes were misty when he raised them. "Agent Gibbs, what I am about to tell you does not leave this room. This morning, one of my men and I went to speak with Ziva. We needed her for, ah, a sensitive assignment. We told her that Tony could accompany her, at least for some time. However, they insisted on contacting NCIS first. When we refused, they fled in her car, presumably to try to contact you." He was careful to look away, down and to his left. "There was, ah, nothing we could have done to prevent the accident…"

Gibbs shook his head. "Nice try. Give this to DiNozzo." He set a small box on the desk in front of Bashan and left, yanking the door closed behind him.

Bashan picked up the phone and turned off the speaker. "Sir? Did you hear all that?"

"Yes. He would never have been convinced by anything we told him. Your story sounded just incompetent enough to force NCIS to focus on the accident and time leading up to it."

"I will take that as a compliment, sir."

"As you should. I trust the DNA evidence will confirm their identities?"

"Of course."

"Good. I have reassigned some men and the safe house should be ready within a few hours. I suggest you get them to the airport as soon as possible." David paused. "What did he ask you to return to Tony?"

Bashan opened the box Gibbs had placed on the desk. "Ah…"


	10. Chapter 10

Ziva paced the length of the lounge again and again, checking her watch. Less than an hour ago, she'd been seated on the couch watching a movie with Tony when Officer Seir had walked in and informed her that they were not to leave the guest quarters until Bashan called for them. She had lost all interest in the movie and spent the intervening time wearing out the carpet, as Tony put it.

He'd been short with her since she'd told him what she thought he already should have known about their apparent deaths and she'd gotten annoyed with him as a result. They had just begun to relax when the hour of tense waiting had gotten them exasperated again. They had stopped arguing almost a half hour ago, but they hadn't spoken since that time either.

Seir's obtrusive presence in the doorway and constant fondling of his weapon wasn't helping. She narrowed her eyes as she turned and saw him watching her intently. It would be so easy to teach him another lesson right now. He passed out of her line of sight as she stalked past the door and she asked herself, lesson about what? Following orders? Doing his job? Watching her fight with Tony?

Why was she even angry with Tony? On her next lap, she stopped and sank onto the couch. He picked up the remote from the cushion beside him and began to flip through the channels rapidly. "Feet tired?"

She ignored his sarcasm. "I'm sorry I got you into this."

His attention remained fixed on the ever-changing picture. "Not really your fault."

"I shouldn't have called you an unobservant idiot."

"Nope."

She tried again after a minute of waiting for him to say more. "I really do feel bad about deceiving everyone at NCIS."

"Yup."

"We'll explain it to them if they haven't figured it out on their own once this is all over." She doubted Moussad had made any errors that would reveal the deception, but she'd learned not to underestimate forensics or, more accurately, forensics performed by her teammates.

"Uh-huh." He was already on his third cycle through the channels.

"Okay. Well, I'm going to go give Officer Seir a lap dance now."

"I haven't been ignoring you. I've been giving you short answers because I'm still kinda mad about all this." He dropped the remote and turned to her, smiling. "But you can give _me_ a lap dance if you're just in that kind of mood…" She punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Maybe later."

"Maybe never." She checked her watch again. "Why is Michael torturing us like this?"

"You're torturing yourself. We could still be happily watching _The Matrix _if you hadn't flipped out when Beard-o over there told us we had to stay here. I bet if he hadn't said anything you'd still be sitting here watching the damn movie. You just don't like being told what to do, especially not by someone who looks like he'll shoot you if you make any sudden movements."

"I don't like being kept in the dark," she corrected. "And I lost interest in the movie when the fake fight started."

"You're just jealous because you don't know Kung Fu."

She rolled her eyes. "It's shocking how few people notice that when they're writhing on the ground with broken clavicles."

"Hmmm." Tony rubbed his cast uneasily. "Just one more reason to be glad I'm not a terrorist. Uh, if we're not angry at each other any more could you get me a soda?"

"We were never angry at each other," she replied, standing and walking to the small stocked refrigerator in the corner of the room. "We're projecting our anger at the situation onto each other."

"Huh?"

"I couldn't sleep during that anger management seminar we had the other day. Juice okay?"

"Sure."

She opened the bottle and took a sip before handing it to him as she sat. "So what have I missed in this movie?"

"Oh, the usual – death, destruction, totally forcing you to question your reality. I mean, what would you do if you suddenly found out that everything you thought was true was actually a big lie?"

She broke their eye contact. "Start shooting."

"Personal experience?"

She leaned her head against his shoulder. She'd been involved in more missions than she cared to remember that had been altered by changes in reality. Granted, shooting was usually a foregone conclusion, but the truth sometimes felt misleading enough to cause a slight hesitation before pulling the trigger at the head of a set of stairs leading to a basement where an incomplete boat… She buried her face in Tony's shoulder, blocking out the memory. It wasn't ever really personal; it was mostly business. She decided not to ask if that was from a movie and settled on something she'd be allowed, if reluctantly, to discuss. "Are you forgetting why we're here?"

"Touché. I suppose dead guys rising from the dead counts." He hugged her against him awkwardly, trying to hold his juice and stroke her arm at the same time. She took the bottle from his hand. "Well, you'll like this part. They're about to let out their inner Zivas. They need guns. Lots of guns."

She tried to focus on the screen, but was almost immediately distracted when Seir began whispering into his wrist-mounted radio. He spoke too softly to be overheard. When he was finished, he looked up and seemed surprised to see Ziva watching him attentively. He didn't approach them, but raised his voice to be heard across the room, "Officer Bashan wants you to gather your things from your room. I am to escort you to the garage."

Tony was now looking at Seir as well. "We're leaving? Where are we going?"

Seir seemed unsettled as Ziva stood and walked toward the door. "I do not know. I suppose that will remain true until we arrive. Please, Officer Bashan is stressing haste."

He flinched visibly when she made a sudden lunge toward him, dropping the empty juice bottle into the garbage can beside him. That explained it. Seir followed them to their room, where she allowed Tony to enter and pulled the door closed, leaving her in the hall with their escort. "Listen, I realize that I make you nervous and I'm sorry that you're stuck with me, but I'm not going to hit you." He stiffened, his hand automatically seeking his weapon. She sighed and continued, "And I also realize that I never apologized for what I did the first time we met, so…I wish things had gone differently then." She had never expected to be having a conversation like this with a fellow Moussad officer. "Can we just…you don't have to be anxious because of me, is what I'm trying to say."

"Of…of course," he stammered, still unsure. "Please, if you would just gather your things…"


	11. Chapter 11

Abby crossed her arms over her chest and looked at McGee over her table. She'd given herself the dual assignment of cheering him up and analyzing the evidence. The latter looked like the less daunting of the tasks. "Okay, we'll start with the stuff that would be easiest to fake and work our way up. Remember, we're dealing with Moussad here, so we've got to think creatively."

He nodded, the light in the lab highlighting the fact that he was still distinctly green from some angles. "Yeah. Creatively." His voice was completely flat.

"We'll start with the jewelry." She held up the first plastic bag. "Gold Star of David pendant on a gold chain – anyone who's ever seen Ziva knows she wears one like this. Easy to fake. And this," she seized a second bag, "is, like, a generic men's stainless steel analog watch with a black face."

"Tony doesn't wear a generic watch. He wears a TAG Heuer."

"Like this one! See, this is good McGee!"

"Wouldn't it be better if we could be sure it isn't Tony's watch?" he moaned.

"Tim! Loosen up! You told me that Gibbs told you they aren't really dead! You should be bouncing off the walls with happiness right now!"

"Did you ever think that Gibbs could be wrong?"

"McGee! Do not blaspheme! What were we talking about?" She looked down and saw that the bag with the watch was still in her hand. "Oh, Moussad! Okay, think of it this way – would Ziva put the wrong watch on someone whose death she was faking?"

"I don't know. I guess not." His tone indicated that he wasn't sharing her absolute faith in Gibbs at the moment.

It didn't matter; the forensics would find the way to convince him. Abby continued, "She _wouldn't_. And we're dealing with Ziva to the nth power here. I think we can put line through confirmation by jewelry." She leaned forward and did just that with a thick black marker on the list she'd compiled prior to setting out on her mission to prove the evidence wrong. She realized that it was an odd assignment to give herself, but it was really no different than proving the authenticity of the evidence she normally processed.

McGee picked up the bag with the Star of David. "He wore this when she was…when we were in Europe."

"Not even top secret information about your mission in France can distract me right now." She paused. Now probably would be the best time to perform an interrogation on that particular subject, which had been quietly driving her crazy for months. She shook her head. _Focus on_ your _mission_. "Moving on…we've got NCIS ID cards and badges. If we were dealing with some rinky-dink operation, this would be very disheartening, but, once again, it's Moussad. They could have a whole underground factory mass-producing these things. College students are probably using these to buy beer as we speak. No worries there."

"Guess not." His eyes didn't seem focused as she crossed the second item off her list.

She wheeled a chair over to the table for him before continuing, "Next, weapons. We've got two SIG Sauers, probably too damaged to confirm by firing or…" she squinted as she inspected the two guns in cardboard boxes, "serial numbers. What's wrong with this picture?"

"We can't tell if they're Tony and Ziva's service weapons."

"You really aren't feeling creative today, Tim. We'll try again…what's _missing_?"

He sighed heavily. "The ring."

She blinked. "We already covered jewelry, and since when does either Tony or Ziva wear a ring?"

"Gibbs has an engagement ring."

"Gibbs is getting married again?" Visions of herself drunk at the reception flooded her mind, which seemed to be having a vicarious drunken fling because she was completely unable to picture a bride.

"No…it's Tony's. Gibbs found it with the note that said Moussad was there."

Abby backed up, holding her hands away from her body. "Hold on. Tony has a ring? For Ziva? Already?"

"Saw it this morning." McGee was nodding slowly, like a sad bobblehead. "Seemed like kind of a small diamond, but I think it's probably more about what Ziva would actually wear versus the cost of…" His breath caught in his throat. "I bet they would have eloped and told us all a few months after they actually did it. And it would have come out awkwardly, like Tony would have been asking someone in accounting to look over their taxes and we would have found out when the rumor was spread…"

She felt him jump as she hugged him from behind. He was really off if he hadn't noticed her coming up in back of him. "Tim, for all we know this is an elaborate ruse and they're exchanging 'I dos' in Tel Aviv right now. As for us…well, we need to answer my question about the weapons." She let go and circled around to the opposite side of the table.

"You already said they're SIGs. With no serials or…"

"Once I clean them we may still get the serials, but that just proves the Moussad angle. They know that we know the serial numbers, so they'd either take the real guns or fake the numbers. Considering they got Ziva's real car, it's a safe bet that they got the real guns and cell phones." She held up a bag with a shapeless lump of melted plastic goo inside. "Not that we'll be able to get anything useful from the cell glop. The real thing that stands out is what's not here."

He stared blankly at the table. "Um…DNA results?"

"Not for a few more hours. I mean what should be sitting on this table that isn't?"

"A Caf-Pow?"

"Smile when you make a joke, McGee." She reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "But I do appreciate the effort. You need to stop making yourself sick over this because they're fine, Tim."

"If they were fine, they'd be here."

"Okay, I guess safe would have been a better choice of words. Still, look at everything that was recovered from the car. The guns are here. The badges are here. The jewelry is here. What other metal things should be here?"

He shook his head. "Um…lock picks?"

"Knives! Rule number eight!"

"Eight is never take anything for granted, Abs." Gibbs set the Caf-Pow McGee had mentioned not a minute earlier on the table. "Never go anywhere without your knife is nine."

"Right. The important thing here is that no knives were found in the car. No spare magazines or back-up guns for that matter, either."

"No Glock in the glove compartment?"

"I haven't had a chance to look at the car yet, Gibbs. But we know it's Ziva's car, so if we know she keeps a gun in the glove compartment, it won't really tell us much. I will be curious to see if she keeps actual gloves in the glove compartment, because I don't think anyone does. Was there ever a time when…"

"Abs…"

"Right. No tangents. You should make that a new rule." She continued turning on the ball of her foot when she tried to face the table and spun in a full circle until she was facing Gibbs again. "Oooh! One more tangent…can I see the ring?"

She could see McGee cringe in her peripheral vision when Gibbs gave him a sidelong glare, but his eyes were soft when he turned them back to her. "I stopped by the Israeli on my way to the coffee shop and gave it to Officer Bashan to give to Tony."

"Aha! So Moussad confirmed they've got them?"

"Basically."

McGee shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "That's not the same as 'yes'."

"They told a flimsy lie that amounted to a fake cover-up for causing the accident."

"So maybe Tony and Ziva decided they didn't want to go wherever Moussad was taking them and escaped. Maybe Moussad is just trying to avoid the embarrassment of losing two federal agents and then killing them by accident when they tried to recapture them."

Abby tried to decide if McGee was wilting under Gibbs and her twin glares, or if he had just been that dejected since she'd found him vomiting in the women's bathroom. She sadly settled on the latter and tried to lighten the mood. "Prozac and group hugs to the lab, stat!"

"I'm afraid all I've brought are the dental castings, Abby, so if you're ready to…" Ducky looked up from the tray he was carrying. "Oh, everyone is present. Shall we input these into your program?"

"We shall, Ducky." Abby bustled around her lab, setting up the necessary equipment. "Fortunately, we've already got both of their dental records on file – Tony's from when that horrible experiment in personnel went haywire and Ziva's from the time that suspect claimed she bit him during his arrest."

"I thought she did bite him," McGee interjected. "He tried to put her in a headlock and she bit his hand to get him to let go."

"Right, and we had to prove it was her using her dental records. The DA ended up proving he deserved it because he was resisting arrest, so, no harm, no foul there, I guess. Okay, let's fire up the i-dental-fication software and get us a negative…spork!"

The small group of people watched the results flashing on the monitors – the two positive matches had been displayed almost immediately. Gibbs was the first to speak. "Duck…you find out how Moussad faked teeth. McGee, let's go look over that scene ourselves." He grabbed McGee's arm and dragged him to the elevator.

"I'm glad he's so sure…" Ducky muttered, patting Abby's shoulder warmly before leaving the lab.

She stood rooted to the spot in front of her computer station. Eventually, she closed the program. "Not even Moussad can fake DNA," she enthused, trying to overcome her sudden instinct that teeth were superior to gut. "Just a few more hours."


	12. Chapter 12

Tony relaxed into the soft leather of the limo's deep bench seat along the driver's side of the car. In the time it was taking for Ziva to say goodbye to Eyal, Adi and the baby in the parking garage, he had already shaken hands all around, looked over his car to ensure that it hadn't been damaged and raided the limo's minibar. He was pleased to find that beer was apparently kosher. He sipped the Sam Adams he'd managed to open one-handed and peered at Ziva through the tinted rear window. She was holding the baby again.

He turned away, suppressing a shudder. Bashan leaned his head into the back door, giving him a welcome distraction. "Ah, I see you have found the refreshments. May I?"

"Uh, yeah." Tony waited for Bashan to settle himself in the seat directly across from him. "Can I offer you one of your beers?"

"Why not? I will give Ziva five more minutes."

Tony performed his one-handed maneuver with the bottle opener again and passed the bottle across the car. "Cheers."

"Indeed." Bashan took a sip and reached into his jacket pocket. "I was asked to return this to you."

Tony stared at the box in his outstretched hand. Although he didn't need to open it to know what was inside, he checked quickly when he took it before pushing it deep into his own pocket. "Where did you get that?"

"Agent Gibbs came to speak with me. Please feign surprise when I reveal that information to both of you on the way to the airport. I must ask – have you had any contact with anyone from NCIS since we arrived at your apartment this morning?"

"Uh, contact? Not exactly." Tony rolled his half-empty bottle between his palms. "Before Ziva got out of the bathroom this morning I wrote a note saying that you guys were there, but I didn't know why. I wasn't trying to mess things up. I just wanted…" he trailed off. He hadn't had any idea what was going on in the unexpected rush to dress and leave, but his first instinct hadn't been related to slipping information to NCIS. Lowering his voice he said, "Look, I only wanted Gibbs to keep the ring safe for me."

"I see. I thought that, although he was very sure of himself, he had no concrete information. Incidentally, the Director is now aware of your apparent intentions for Ziva." Tony's heart stopped for a moment, his hand frozen in the act of bringing his beer to his lips. Bashan relieved him by continuing, "He seemed pleased. Very pleased. Could I tell him when you plan to…?" He rotated his hand in a gesture of continuance rather than saying the word.

"Uh…" If he were honest with himself, Tony hadn't had a chance to think much about it yet. He'd gotten a week off after breaking his arm. One day when she had been at the office he'd gotten bored and, on a whim, called a cab and gone to a jeweler. An hour and a few thousand dollars later he'd arrived home with the ring, which he'd immediately placed in his favorite hiding spot with a shiver of panic. What if she found it? What if she freaked out? That had been before they'd even decided to move in together.

He fingered the box, which he now realized was making an odd bulge in the pocket of his jeans. He peeked into the box again before he transferred it to the pocket inside his jacket. Just because he knew they were thinking along the same lines didn't mean he was ready, although the fact that he'd bought a ring seemed to tell him he was. It was possible she wasn't ready. Unless she was now expecting him to propose because of what he'd read in her letter. It would be so much easier if he could just ask her, except…why _couldn't_ he just ask her? He had the ring. Bashan continued to look at him expectantly and he took a deep, shaky breath. "I don't know. Not for a while, probably. I'd appreciate if he didn't say anything about it to her."

"I see. You are simply preparing for the inevitable." Bashan took a slow sip from his beer. "I am afraid I am making it sound more fatalistic than romantic. My apologies. In my youth I became accustomed to making quick decisions because I did not expect to live this long."

Tony coughed, covering his mouth just in time to prevent a frothy spray of spittle to douse Bashan's suit. "You okay?"

He looked up to see that Ziva had slipped into the car. She moved to sit beside him and patted his back. He smiled weakly. "Just went down the wrong way. I'm fine," he lied. "You want a beer?"

"No. Actually…yes."

He avoided her searching eyes as he uncapped the bottle. "Impressed?"

"I'd be more impressed if you'd load the dishwasher."

"Maybe your Moussad buddies can handle that while they're clearing our stuff out of my apartment. If they haven't done it already, I mean."

Bashan cleared his throat, "That is not strictly accurate. As you are supposed to be dead, your things will not be touched for the moment. I have a feeling Agent Gibbs will be returning to your apartment to see what else he can learn."

"What _else_?" Ziva asked incredulously.

"Yes, allow me to explain…" Tony didn't listen as Bashan and Ziva discussed the visit Gibbs had made to the Embassy, his thoughts drifting as the limo exited the garage and almost immediately became ensnared in a traffic jam.

Gibbs. Now Gibbs knew that he wanted to marry Ziva. Gibbs wouldn't tell anyone, would he? At least he would be able to tell everyone at NCIS that they were alive. Bashan must have told him they were okay if he'd left the ring after Tony had asked him to keep it safe.

His hand slipped into his coat pocket to caress the soft surface of the box. The ring was the exact opposite of the one she'd gotten from Tushkevich – yellow gold with a small diamond, rather than platinum with a gargantuan diamond. Tony was pleased to realize that the idiot hadn't known her at all if he'd thought that was the kind of ring she'd really like. He yanked his hand from his pocket as if he'd received an electric shock. _That_ was why he couldn't ask yet. Tushkevich.

On the other hand, when he did propose, he'd be faced with the daunting prospect of telling everyone. Of course, since Gibbs already knew it was coming, Tony wouldn't have to tell him like it was a big surprise. And since Bashan had told Abraham, Tony wouldn't have to tell him either. Maybe being taken into protective custody wasn't such a bad thing after all. His gaze flicked to Ziva, who was talking animatedly to Bashan. If only someone could blurt it out in front of her, he'd be all set. Where was Abby when you needed her? The car lurched and Ziva was thrown against him. He moved his arm around her shoulders to keep her close while she resumed her conversation, which, unfortunately, soon concluded with the question, "What do you think, Tony?"

"Uh…yeah." At her confused glance, he set his empty beer bottle in a cup holder and tried again. "No?"

"Have you even been paying attention?"

"Before I answer that, I want you to remember that I have a broken arm."

She rolled her eyes. "Did you at least hear Michael tell us that my father is going to tell NCIS we're alive once we're at the safe house?"

"Really?" He increased the pressure of his arm around her for a moment. "That's good."

"Gibbs doesn't think we're dead anyway."

Tony grinned, asking Bashan, "Now did he use the words 'my gut' when you talked to him?"

"I do not believe so. Ah, we have arrived." Bashan led them across the tarmac and up the stairway into the spacious cabin of the private jet. "I trust you will find your accommodations satisfactory, both on your trip and once you arrive. Your pilot's name is Tal and Seir will be your co-pilot. I am sure the Director will be in touch at some point. Have a safe journey. I hope to see you both return before long. Shalom."

"Shalom, Michael." Ziva kissed his cheek and Tony shook his hand before he exited the aircraft. They sat on the wide leather couch, watching Seir board and nervously enter the cockpit.

Tony shook his head. "What's with that guy? I thought all you Moussad folks were supposed to have nerves of steel."

"I told you, it's me." She fell silent and nodded to the grinning pilot as he told them to prepare for takeoff and disappeared behind the cockpit door. "I already told him I wouldn't hit him again, for all the good it's done."

"At least he isn't sitting back here." The plane picked up speed as it began to taxi down the runway. He pouted and clinked the pieces of his seatbelt buckle together until she joined them.

"Hopeless."

"Hey, it's not my fault I'm temporarily disabled." He felt his stomach heave as the plane ascended. "How long is this flight anyway?"

"I have no idea where we're going, but it's unlikely we're going straight there. It could be a long one."

He smirked, glad to think of a way to pass some of the time that didn't involve heavy relationship conversation. He carefully removed his coat and placed it on the seat across from the couch. "So…you ever heard of the Mile High Club?"


	13. Chapter 13

Oren Seir blinked hard, trying to resolve the line between the endless blue ocean and impossibly far reaching sky. They had been flying east over the Atlantic for nearly three hours, en route to Ponta Delgada in the Azores. The envelope he'd opened just before takeoff listed seven such stopovers, of which one would be the departure point for the passengers, including Seir. He'd been pleased to see his hunch had been right and the third stop was the island of Naxos in the Cyclades, two stops before the drop in Copenhagen.

Travel itinerary notwithstanding, he knew there were hours to go before even their first landing and he had been drinking Coke since leaving DC. He was careful not to jar the controls as he stood. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

The pilot, Aharon Tal, winked at him. "I was starting to worry you were wearing a diaper or something."

"No," he replied curtly. Tal had done little to endear himself to Seir, keeping up a near constant chatter about his sexual conquests that kept swinging back to a reflection on his chances of adding Ziva David to his implausibly long list. Seir was tempted to tell Tal to give it a try and see what happened, but he was not very confident in his ability to land the plane. He opened the door of the cockpit, admitting a wave of bass-heavy music that explained the muffled noises he'd been hearing for the past half hour, only to close it a few seconds later and return to his seat behind the co-pilot's controls.

Tal glanced at him. "What? Did you just piss in a soda can back there?"

"I can hold it a little longer."

Tal made a slight adjustment and reengaged the autopilot. "Afraid Director Daddy's little girl will punch you if walk through the cabin?"

"Not at all." Seir's face burned. One of the problems with working for Moussad was dissemination of information. If it was classified, it took an act of God to learn about it; if it wasn't, it spread like wildfire. Even worse, nothing was ever forgotten. He would be hearing about his unfortunate beating at the hands of Ziva David for the rest of his career. A joke would be made about it at his funeral. Her apology had just made the inner shame worse. He hated her. The least he could do was ruin her fun. Looking Tal straight in the eye, he said, "They're having sex on the couch."

"Oh, man, and you didn't want to watch?" Tal responded, almost exactly as Seir had anticipated. He tried to stand so quickly that he forgot about his seatbelt. He unclipped the buckle and rushed to get out of his chair. "Thank God this thing practically flies itself."

"Don't bother. They're under a blanket." Seir twisted his head around to look at his companion as the music once again became audible. "Tal!"

"Oh, there is always something to see." He cracked the door open and gasped, "That lucky bastard…"

"You're just going stand there and watch them?"

He pulled the door open further and waved his hand urgently. "Ssshh."

Seir happily put on a set of earphones and turned to watch the clouds drifting past outside his window. He tried to appreciate that he was finally running a field mission, something he hadn't done in quite some time, but the fact that he was guarding the reason he had been stuck on what amounted to guard duty at the Embassy tainted the whole experience. Prior to his encounter with Ziva David, he'd been on his way up, making himself indispensable to Officer Bashan and Moussad's US operations. He had reached a point where he was sure Bashan would be mentioning him to his, Bashan's, good friend Director David as a possible candidate for an impressive promotion.

One takedown and twenty minutes of unconsciousness later, Director David was certainly made aware of Seir's name. He had spent a nerve-racking twenty four hours waiting to find out if he was to be killed or merely severely punished for allowing Ziva David to leave without so much as a struggle. He had eventually come to the conclusion that it had been a no-win situation from the moment Bashan had left the room. Even if he had been able to subdue her, which he seriously doubted after feeling the surprising controlled violence she was capable of, he would have had to justify attacking the Director's daughter.

When he closed his eyes, he could see her hovering over him, laughter in her voice as she asked him questions about his experience with bondage. He smiled and lied, thinking she would end the joke and let him up at any moment. Instead, her eyes abruptly turned pitiless. _Today is not your lucky day._ She'd had no idea.

He had been chewed out first by Bashan and then by Director David himself, who had threatened everything from torture and dismemberment to termination, both professionally and literally, if the situation did not reach a favorable conclusion. When the plot to frame Moussad and Israel had been exposed, Seir had fallen to his knees and thanked God. He had been forced to crawl ever since. Although Bashan's trust in him had gradually been renewed, he doubted he would ever move as far up as he had once hoped.

Sighing, he stared out the window and pushed away the thought that, even before his humiliation, it had been nearly inconceivable that he would have attained a position of power in Moussad. He lacked the family connections that made ascension to the upper echelons possible. Some people got to ride in the private jets with their American lovers on their way to secure mansions in beautiful European cities; some people got to carry the luggage and listen to the pilot wax poetic about breasts.

He pulled the headphones down around his neck as Tal sank into his own seat five minutes later with a loud exhalation. "I think I may need to change my shorts. Have you ever heard a woman makes noises like that? Damn."

"I wasn't listening."

After taking a moment to check the readouts, Tal popped the top on a soda can and looked at him. "Don't take this the wrong way Seir, but are you gay? Not that I've got a problem with that…and even so, the guy was making some pretty crazy noises too, so there was something we could all enjoy…"

"I'm not gay."

"Ah, okay. You're just the shy and repressed type, then. Well, you missed a hell of a show. The blanket fell off about halfway through, and she had her leg all bent up in this weird pretzel kind of thing and she was all wrapped around him. I swear, when she came it looked like she was gonna snap him in half. Hot. If she was that excited for him, I can only imagine what she'd do if I got my hands on her tight little…"

Seir put his headphones on again.

* * *

Ziva felt her sweat-slicked back stick to the hot leather of the couch as she sat up and leaned over Tony to retrieve the blanket that hadn't really mattered to her that long before. Now, with her heart rate back to normal, she was chilled by the airflow through the cabin. She took a moment to find the remote that turned off the music before tucking the blanket around both of their bodies and snuggling tightly against him. "Good?"

"Mmhmm. Comfy." He lifted his head slightly so she could slip her right arm under it. She stroked his hair with her fingertips as he dipped his face to kiss the scar on her shoulder before pillowing his head on her arm. "No more of those, okay?"

"Sick of visiting me in the hospital?" she joked. As his face fell, she amended, "I'll do my best."

"Hm." They remained silent for a minute, watching each other. She eventually kissed him gently. He ran his fingers along her side and she felt the rough edges of his cast on her skin. "I've missed being on top."

"You weren't. We're side by side."

"Close enough." He grinned. "I hear that the difference in atmospheric pressure is what makes it better."

"That's just a myth. Being in a tiny cubicle with a stewardess banging on the door and yelling at you makes it more intense, but not necessarily better."

He looked at her skeptically, tightening his left arm around her waist. "Glad you didn't say anything about that beforehand."

She kissed him deeply, her free hand roaming over his body and pulling his hips against her. "Relax, my little hairy butt. You're the best I've ever had in the air or on the ground."

"I don't even care if you mean that right now," he muttered, working his way down her neck.

"I do," she whispered. Surprisingly, he pulled back. "What?"

"Huh? Nothing. I just…some turbulence or something." He winced as he pulled the blanket over their heads with his right hand. "Mmm…sleepy."

He settled against her, his weight pushing her into the back of the couch as he ignored her attempts to get up. She finally said, "Maybe we should get dressed first."

His reply was coupled with some wet kisses on her neck. "Nope. Dressed: bad. Naked: good. Heh. I'm like Frankenstein. Unghgh."

"You mean the monster. Frankenstein is the doctor's name. And the monster is surprisingly articulate."

"Let me guess – in the novel." He yawned, his warm breath causing her hair to tickle her ear as it fluttered against it. "Time to sleep."

She tried the logical argument, "Someone could walk through and see us." Normally she wouldn't have been concerned, but the leering pilot's two trips to the bathroom had given her pause. She squinted through the thick fabric, trying to determine if anything more than muted light was visible. "I'm not giving that creep Tal a free show."

"That's why I made us a blanket fort. We'll wake up before we land and get dressed then."

"Fine," she relented. She adjusted her position slightly as he burrowed his head into the crook of her neck. "I never really thought you'd be a cuddler."

His muffled response was punctuated with more yawns, "Yeah, well…you're cuddling me back. They teach…ninja snuggling at Moussad?"

"No." She took a few moments to consider their position. "I was never like this until we got together."

His soft snores gave her more time to contemplate the changes of which she hadn't even really been conscious. When had she been with _anyone_ she would have allowed, much less wanted, to hold her as much as Tony did? In bed while they slept, on the couch while they watched TV, even walking down the street when they weren't working – he was always slipping an arm around her, brushing against her or holding her hand. She had yet to find a satisfactory explanation why things were so different, aside from the obvious, and she was still slightly uncomfortable with the idea that another person could make her change so much. She whispered, "I'm not supposed to like this."

He startled her by softly asking, "But do you?"

"Yes," she answered with minimal hesitation, squeezing her eyes closed.

"Then what's the problem?"

"I…don't think there is one. Which is flaking me out."

He laughed faintly. "You can't pull that on me anymore, remember?" She felt his forehead make gentle contact with hers and opened her eyes to stare directly into his, glinting in the dimness under the blanket. "I think maybe the best thing to do is not question. Just let it be perfect so we can live happily ever after, once the whole constant threat of death thing is over, of course."

"Happily ever after?"

"Don't pretend that arguing doesn't make you just as happy as cuddling."

She pecked his lips. "Go back to sleep."


	14. Chapter 14

Tony yawned as he woke warm and happy. His muscles felt relaxed. His mind was at ease. The air smelled like Ziva. His arm even hurt less than when he usually woke. Then he blinked and wondered why he couldn't see. He tested his eyes a few times, opening and closing them to make sure he knew the difference. Eyelids open. Eyelids shut. Eyelids open. Eyelids…

"You're blinking really loudly."

Realization dawned as he woke further and felt Ziva's fingers playing with his chest hair. They had fallen asleep on the couch under the blanket. That explained why the warm pillow pressed against his front was moving. And why it was heavy enough to have caused his left arm, wrapped around it, to lose feeling. He leaned forward, blindly kissing the first warm skin he encountered, which happened to be her throat. He made his way up her neck and over her chin. "And did my loud blinking wake you?"

"No, I've been awake for quite some time." Her tongue flicked against his lips. "I was watching you sleep. Creepy, yes?"

"I'm not falling for it if you're trying to make me admit that I do that to you, though I will admit to flipping you onto your stomach sometimes to get you to stop snoring." He tried to shift his position but found that there was very little room to do so. He settled for wiggling his fingers as sensation started to return to his arm. "So you've just been lying there with me crushing you? Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because I knew what you'd want to do the second you woke up."

"That's not a bad idea," he whispered as he realized that his arm wasn't the most important stiff part of his body. He pressed his hips into her. "In fact, I think I am about ready to…"

"Stab me in the thigh?" she finished, trying to press herself deeper into the couch.

He scooted over, claiming the small space she'd relinquished for himself. His eyes had grown accustomed to the lack of light and he could see her the corners of her mouth turning up in a seductive smile. He tried to use his leg to spread hers. "Now you really can't escape."

"Without hurting you, you mean."

Ignoring her fake threat, he nipped at her jaw line. "At the very least, you could act impressed. This is about to be the third time today."

"What makes you so sure about that?"

"Well…" He continued his oral activities on her neck as his fingertips traced along her waist and hip, sliding down behind her thigh. When he tried to pull her leg over his hip, he whimpered, "Oh, maybe not such a good idea."

"You're terrible at the teasing." She finally began to respond physically, stroking him gently. "Anyway, I think the little head disagrees."

"No, it's my arm and what do you mean 'little'?"

She quickly ceased her actions. "Do you want to…"

"No!" He shifted his cast to the curve of her waist and sighed. "Okay, we're good. Now…wanna help me out a little?" She snaked her top leg over him, intertwining it with his. He rubbed against her, his grip on her waist pulling her even closer as she kissed him. "Mmmm…Ziva…"

"In…a…minute."

"AHEM!"

He groaned at the poorly timed interruption. Unfazed, she pushed up the corner of the blanket and peeked out. "Something we can help you with, Officer Seir?"

"Um, yes. I'm sorry t-to _disturb_ you, but we'll be, um, landing soon." Tony would have liked to have seen the spluttering man's face, but Ziva had pulled the blanket over the top of his head. He buried his face in her chest and blew a raspberry. The swat she gave him to discourage him only caused her to arch her back and press her breasts into his face. He gave a low chuckle and went to work. At her burst of giggles, Seir continued hastily, "There will be a wait on the ground and you won't be able to leave the plane…as p-p-per the Director's orders…"

"So we won't be seen, I know." She tightened her leg around Tony, increasing the pressure building in his groin to nearly unmanageable proportions. He tried to pump his hips but found that her grip was too tight. He moaned and she continued, "I've run a few of these myself."

"Of, of course, Of-officer David. I just wanted to, um, inform you that you will, um, have the op-p-p-portunity for a meal to be, um, delivered from a local restaurant."

"And what will be available?"

Tony muttered, "Can we hold off on the menu choices?"

"Hm. When will we be landing?"

"Um, ten minutes. I just stepped back here to ask you to fasten your seatbelts and prepare to do it. The landing! Prepare for landing."

Tony heard the door thud closed and worked his head out from under the blanket. "Think he knew I was under here?"

"Well, it's not like he could have seen anything."

"I told you you'd learn to appreciate the blanket fort."

"I was referring to the fact that he had his hand over his eyes."

"Prude."

She disentangled her leg from his and pushed herself up on her elbow. "Save the mocking for after we're dressed."

"Very funny." He ducked his head again, turning his attention back to her breasts.

"I'm serious. We'll have to wait until we take off again."

He pushed his hips against hers. "You don't want to wait any more than I do."

"Think of it this way…we've only got ten minutes and, considering how vigorous you were earlier, I'll be disappointed verging on pissed off if you don't deliver just as well again."

He relented. "Fine. But you're gonna have to be really, really careful helping me get my pants on."

A few more-careful-than-he-would-have-liked minutes later, they were fully dressed. He sank into one of the chairs next to a window. The blank ocean sped past a few thousand feet below. "So where are we landing, exactly? All I see is water and this thing didn't look like it had pontoons. Oh! And you wanted to wait."

Ziva frowned and withdrew her hands from where they had slipped between the outsides of his thighs and the armrests, pulling out the two halves of his seatbelt. "You're unnaturally focused on sex today. Even for you."

"Must be all the international intrigue. I'm even more Bond than usual." It was closer to the truth than he cared to admit. If Bashan hadn't shown up, he'd have been satisfied for the day with whatever had happened in the shower. The ring had been safely hidden, not to be thought of for months and months. Now he was worried about losing her to her sham of a legitimate husband and rehearsing his own proposals in his head. _Ziva, will you marry me? Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Wanna fly to Vegas and elope this weekend?_

And should it be formal or casual? Planned in advance with dinner and champagne? Spontaneously asked when they woke one morning? On bended knee? Did he have to talk to her father first, even though Abraham already knew? Would he have had to talk to him if Abraham hadn't found out? Would it be considered gauche to ask her how she wanted him to do it?

"What the…?" She pulled his jacket out from under her, having just sat on it. "What do you have in here?"

Panicked, he reached for the jacket. The words 'here,' 'now' and 'by accident' had no place in his jumbled mass of a plan. "Nothing. I mean, probably just my knife or something. You can just give me that. The whole thing, I mean, not just whatever's in the pocket. Which is probably nothing, so you shouldn't stick your hand in there."

Knitting her eyebrows, she handed him the jacket. "You're awfully jumpy all of a sudden."

"Yeah, well…I don't want you cutting your hand if it is my knife." He smoothed the jacket over his lap, feeling for the small lump of the box in the pocket. He had a right to be jumpy. He was _not_ ready. He'd almost had a major freak out when she'd answered a simple question with the dreaded words 'I do.' Engagement didn't equal immediate marriage, though. He could ask, she could say yes, and they could wait two years.

She was looking at him expectantly and he realized he was still smoothing the jacket over his lap. Another lump gave him an excuse. "I'm just…eager to land and get back in the air again." He pointed down. "Y'know…the little head…"

She winked. "I just meant little in comparison to the one on your shoulders."

He squirmed uncomfortably. "Now is really not the time for innuendo."

"Sorry." She stared out the window for a minute before turning back to him. "So…how 'bout them Gators?"

"Ouch. No more SportsCenter for you."

"Did it work?"

"A little." He shifted, trying to find a spot where his pants didn't feel so tight. "Try talking about baseball."

"Oh, yes…um…the Baltimore…er, Orange Birds certainly scored a lot of points the other day."

"It's the Orioles. And they scored runs." He felt himself start to calm down. "See, the object of the game…" He barely felt the tires touch down on the runway what was definitely more than ten minutes later. "…and the runner can tag third and run home depending on which field the hitter flies to and how strong the outfielder's arm is. Get it?"

"I never realized a game that looked so boring could have so many rules and so much strategy involved. It's almost enough to make me want to stay awake."

"When we get home I'll take you to a Nationals game. Actually, we'll do an Orioles game. Better park to get the authentic baseball feeling." He looked out the window at the generic tarmac of a somewhat idle airport. "So where are we?"

She glanced out and immediately answered, "Sao Miguel Island in the Azores."

"You've been here before?"

"Once. But there's a sign on top of the terminal welcoming us. Hope you're in the mood for seafood."

The plane's engines powered down as they came to a stop. Seir exited the cockpit and opened the main hatch. Before descending the stairs, he glanced at them, saying nothing.

"Such a friendly guy," Tony murmured.

"He's not supposed to be friendly. He's supposed to be providing security. And for the last time, he doesn't like me because of what happened the last time I saw him."

"That appears to be a pattern with you, Ziva." Seir's unconscious body dropped to the floor of the cabin, pushed by the man standing in the hatchway, pointing a gun at them. "Hello, my princess."


	15. Chapter 15

McGee walked softly as he entered the lab in search of Abby. He unconsciously rattled the ice in the Caf-Pow against the plastic sides of the cup, like his grandma used to do with the dry cat food in the pink bowl for Miss Tuftsy, the giant gray cat whose omnipresent dander had always been the worst part of any visit to his grandparents' house. He set the cup down and settled for an approach that didn't cause his nose to clog at the mere thought. "Abby?"

No one answered and he sniffled loudly. His nose had actually been stuffed all day, but determining that his congestion and red eyes were a physical manifestation of long past contact with the maliciously affectionate feline made him feel less…pitiful. If apologizing was a sign of weakness, he could only imagine what vomiting followed by crying could be.

Gibbs had been very, very quiet, even for Gibbs, in the three unproductive hours they had spent first at the site of the car crash and then at Tony's apartment. Tony and Ziva's apartment. McGee wasn't sure if it was the lack of faith in 'the gut' or the tears he hadn't bothered to hide that had earned him the silent treatment from his boss, but he hadn't had the energy to ask, especially after struggling up and down the highway embankment five times. All he knew was that Gibbs hadn't said a word when he'd sunk onto Tony's couch and remained there the entire time Gibbs had spent scouring the five rooms, three closets and one bathroom.

McGee smiled slightly as he sat at one of the stools at the central workstation. He'd actually stood from the couch once to retrieve a book, carefully obscured by a browning potted plant, that turned out to be a photo album. All the captions next to the pictures had been written in Hebrew characters, but among the many unfamiliar faces he'd been able to recognize the college versions of Ziva's friends Adi and Eyal Dagan, whom he'd met in Tel Aviv, along with the less welcome countenance of Ari Haswari.

He'd been especially struck by how _young_ Ziva looked in all the photos. Maybe it was just because she was smiling in almost all of them. Of course, she smiled a lot now, too, now that she and Tony were so happy. McGee had spent twenty minutes staring at the pictures, trying to decide why she looked so different. He had started with the lighting and worked his way down to the more likely conclusion that working at Moussad had changed her. Was he getting a glimpse of a Ziva who had never lost faith in people she trusted? Never sacrificed herself for what someone claimed was a greater good? Never killed anyone?

He would never be able to ask her now. He spun the stool around, allowing the lab to blur momentarily. Closing his eyes, he caught the edge of the table to stop himself. The last thing he needed was another bout of nausea. Why didn't anyone believe the clear message he was getting from _his_ gut? As he leaned forward to steady himself, his hand tapped the mouse and the screensavers on the monitors disappeared. The words 'Positive Match' highlighted in green flashed on the screens. A quick glance told him that it was the DNA results they'd been waiting for. He took a deep breath.

The first match was enough. Ziva David. His eyes clouded as he closed the file. The second hadn't even been opened. Abby must have read the results on Ziva and gone to share the bad news. She'd been so sure Gibbs was right. It figured that the one time McGee out-sensed _the_ gut would be the one time he couldn't be proud of it. Secretly, he'd been waiting all day for the miracle that Gibbs was sure to produce, the magic revelation that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that McGee had made himself sick with grief over nothing. Maybe the worst was over for him now that he had already accepted his colleagues' deaths. He could be the rock while everyone else broke down. Right.

He sighed and clicked on the second file to confirm the second match. Anthony DiNozzo. He felt his stomach start to clench again. And…he could probably make it to the bathroom if he walked quickly and calmly and didn't try to…wait, and? There were no ands in DNA fingerprinting. Definitely no exact ands. His stomach relaxed as all of his insides turned to bubbling seltzer. He tried to quiet himself. There had to have been an error. He scanned the data. No error, just a near statistical impossibility. Unless… He rose to his feet and began typing feverishly.

Abby's eyes were red-rimmed as she walked into the lab with Ducky a half hour later, just in time for McGee to turn and let out a whoop of joy. "It's not them!"

She walked up to him slowly and patted his shoulder. "Nice try, Tim, but it's not like we're taking turns trying to convince each other it isn't true. The DNA results came back and it's…"

"Faked! I've been wrong and Gibbs was right! _Is_ right! Isn't it great?"

She shook her head, leaning against the table. "No one, not even the magic men of Moussad, can fake DNA."

"I know that! Everybody knows that!" He wanted to jump high in the air and click his heels together. "But they didn't fake the DNA. They faked the records."

"How?" Ducky asked.

"That's what I'd like to know, Duck." Gibbs set a second Caf-Pow on the table next to the one McGee had brought earlier. "Wanna tell me why the sudden hope, McGee?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "I opened the file with the results on the male body and there were two matches."

"So the lab made an error and mixed the samples or something." Abby brought up another file. "I ran the samples from the bodies myself as a backup and got the same results. It's them, Tim."

"No, it's not." He started pacing fast circles around the perimeter of the room, unable to contain his exhilaration. "The lab error thing is what I thought when I first saw the results too, but it wasn't two different sets of DNA. It was one set that was listed under the same record for both Tony and some guy named Owen Schaeffer. The odds that two people would have the same results on RFLP are something like 1 in 100 billion and we know how we feel about coincidences here, not to mention the fact that this guy Schaeffer has been arrested a whole slew of times and the cops should have come looking for Tony if this record were in the system all along. Anyway, I looked at Tony's file on the computer and found some…"

"Stop," Gibbs ordered to McGee's consternation, halting him with firm hand on his chest. "I want you to stand still and take a deep breath. Now take a minute to fast-forward all the technobabble you're about to make me interrupt and skip to the important stuff."

"Oh, right." He blushed. He could just tell Abby how he'd figured it out later. At least she'd appreciate it. "Someone hacked into our network and replaced Tony and Ziva's digital records to make us think that the two bodies from Ziva's car are them." A wide smile broke over his face. "They're actually an unidentified female and Owen Schaeffer. Whoever put in the substitute files must not have known that Schaeffer was in the system." Instead of the hug he had expected, Abby walked up and punched him solidly in the arm. "What was that for?"

"For not trusting the gut." She immediately wrapped him in a crushing hug. "And that is for reminding me that science is a beautiful goddess and not an evil snake-haired Gorgon who stole my boyfriend and had fifteen anchovy and pineapple pizzas delivered to my door."

"Um…glad I could help?"

Ducky slapped his back heartily when Abby released him and beamed at him. "Well done, Timothy. Mr. Palmer had been comforting Agent Lee in the morgue for quite some time. I believe I shall go relieve their distress."

"Go, Ducky." Gibbs squeezed McGee's shoulder. "That's good work, Tim. Abby, put all that on a doo-dah and we'll go see the Director."

"Ooh, and we can tell her we may also have a lead on the West case!" She pointed to the large plasma screen on the wall. "I guess Timmy thought it would be enough to raise our favorite couple from the dead, so he forgot to mention that the blood pool you found at the scene this morning came from Owen Schaeffer."

McGee looked at the screen and found that Abby was right. If not for the uncertain predicament of his friends, he would have been tempted to ask for the rest of the day off. Gibbs gave his shoulder another squeeze and turned to Abby. "That's great, Abs, but I think Jen's gonna be more interested in why Moussad breached our security in order to make us believe a lie about our people."

Even given Gibbs' seriousness, McGee was unable to suppress his smile. Abby shared his good spirits. "Since we're going up to the Director's office, we can be the first to tell Cynthia the good news! I'll tell her while you stand behind her and catch her in case she passes out…"


	16. Chapter 16

Ziva's reflexes froze briefly as the very alive Dmitri Tushkevich walked further into the small cabin, stepping over the unconscious Seir. She tensed as a prelude to action, but he said, "Do not try it, Ziva. I am sure you can see exactly where I am aiming."

She controlled the impulse to launch herself from her seat to kill him with her bare hands. Her knife was secure at her belt and her SIG was in its holster on the small table beside the couch. All of her other weapons were in her backpack, sitting on a seat near the rear of the cabin. She couldn't get to any of them faster than Dmitri could fire and his gun was trained on Tony. She remained seated and still, allowing her cold stare to do the job her weapons could not. When their eyes locked, she kept her voice level, asking, "Who did I kill in Siberia?"

"Based on the security footage, at least three people." He moved closer, allowing a muscular man in a black t-shirt to board the plane. "Juan, if you would restrain my wife and her associates…"

"Sí, señor." The man removed a thick coil of rope from a bag he was carrying.

"An associate of my father's," Dmitri said, sitting in the seat beside Ziva, his gun still pointed at Tony. "There is a language barrier, but as you can see, he is adequate." He sighed as he watched Juan secure her wrists to the armrests. "I am afraid that Ivan was not easy to replace. Perhaps you should not have killed him."

"I killed him," Tony interjected, sneering. She wanted to warn him not to anger Dmitri, but she was distracted by Juan, now wrapping rope around her shoulders and the back of the chair.

"Another reason for me to dislike you, Agent…DiNozzo, is it? Hmph." He stood and pressed the muzzle of his gun to Tony's temple. "I would like to kill you now, but I think you may be useful if Ziva needs any persuading."

Her eyes flicked back and forth as Juan moved to restrain Tony's right arm and torso. Tal was still in the cockpit; they had a chance. Dmitri slid his gun into his belt as Juan bound and disarmed Seir. He moved to stand over her. She drew back as far as she could in her seat. "You never answered my question."

"The man you shot in our bedroom?" He turned to grin at Tony, who looked away. She was suddenly very nervous about what could occur if Tal didn't get through to Moussad. Dmitri leaned over her, his hands sickeningly familiar as he touched her. "He was a nobody, a look-alike who thought he was going to be rewarded by taking his pleasure with you. Fortunately, he was easier to convince that you would never kill me than I was."

She stared at him from close range. "I should have been able to tell the difference. In the eyes…"

"You did not see love?" His grip tightened around her waist for a moment and anger radiated off him. She clenched her jaw, willing herself not to be the first to look away. After a moment, he relaxed and removed her knife. His hands became gentle as he patted her down, looking for more weapons. Finding none, he leaned over once more, supporting himself on her arms. "Is that fear in your eyes? You are afraid I will take advantage of my connubial rights in front of your lover?" He laughed as he straightened. "Do not flatter yourself. I have no interest in forcing myself on you."

She fought to keep her mind clear, a feat best accomplished by not looking at Tony. She focused on breathing, which was slightly difficult due to the tightness of the ropes around her upper body, and watching Dmitri. "How did you do it?"

"Raise myself from the dead again? It took much less effort this time, I assure you." He returned to his seat, picking his fingernails with the knife he'd taken from her. "When I went to bed, you had all but convinced me that your tension was due to your…" He paused as he glanced quickly at Tony. "Your…reservations about my conduct. If you had not continually checked on me, I _would_ have been the one you shot."

She shook her head. Nothing could ever be easy. He continued, "I waited, hoping that I would be wrong. I was not, as you know, and now Yuri's elderly parents live on generous monthly checks they do not know are their son's death benefits. I reward those who are loyal, Ziva. Those who are not…"

It took her a moment to connect the pain in her thigh with the consciousness that it was caused by her own knife, buried to the hilt. She stared at the black handle, a small red circle starting to stain the khaki of her pants around it. Somewhere far away, she could hear Tony shouting, but only Dmitri's voice was clearly audible. "I would have forgiven you, my princess. Did you know that? I would have forgiven your betrayal and accepted you back with open arms if not for him." Tony's concerned face swam into focus as Dmitri pointed to him with his gun. "I saw you. You shot the man you thought was me and flew directly to _his_ arms. I watched on the security cameras. When I saw you kiss him, I wanted to come from my hiding place and kill both of you, right there. Perhaps I should have. Of course, I would not be able to…" he broke off. "I believe I will leave that for later."

He left the knife where it was and walked to the cockpit, leaving Juan to close the hatch and stand watch. She sagged forward, staring at her leg. Even if they could escape, she wouldn't be able to run and Tony wouldn't be able to carry her with his broken arm. His voice suddenly resolved from static to words, "Ziva…Ziva! Hey!"

She continued leaning forward against her bonds, not feeling the growing pressure in her chest. "I'm fine."

"The knife in your thigh begs to differ. What if that bastard hit the artery or something?"

"The femoral artery runs along the inside of the bone." She ignored the sudden memory of trying to staunch the bloody wound of a friend who had taken shrapnel in the inner thigh. He had barely survived the trip to the hospital. She finally sat up, took a deep breath and met Tony's eyes. "I'm not going to bleed to death."

He looked at her uncertainly. "You'd better not."

She smiled reassuringly. "It just looks bad. I can barely feel it."

"Liar."

"Would you rather have a detailed description while you sit there unable to do anything?"

"I'm sorry. I don't even have a gun on me and my knife is…"

"It wasn't an accusation," she interrupted. "I know if it were possible you'd be shooting people to rescue me and using your jacket as a bandage on my leg, even though it's one of your favorites."

He smiled. "It's really gonna piss Gibbs off to have both of us gimping around the office."

"Because he won't be mad at us anyway when we get back?"

"This isn't our fault. We're in the process of being kidnapped by the bad guys after being kidnapped by the good guys."

"Let's hope that Tal got a message to the good guys before Dmitri went up there."

Tal's voice unexpectedly replied, "Why would I have done that?"

He plopped down on the couch as Dmitri took his seat again. "I believe you have already met my Latvian friend, Andrejs Tal?"

"Not exactly," Ziva muttered, further displeased with herself. She'd had a bad feeling about Tal since they'd met formally shortly after takeoff, but dismissed it as discomfort with his ogling. Moussad security had to be slipping if a simple name change from Andrejs to Aharon went unnoticed.

Dmitri was smiling. "Yes, quite the lucky break that he was the only pilot not stricken with food poisoning earlier today. You cannot just blame poor Tal, though. Your unconscious friend Seir contacted me just this afternoon, trying to convince me that he would hand you over somewhere in Greece. My past experiences with Moussad have taught me that trust is not to be given lightly." He leaned forward and yanked the knife from Ziva's leg.

She gasped. "Fuck you."

"I told you I am not interested, my princess." He wiped the blade on her pant leg.

"I'd be happy to step in for you, sir," Tal said with a revolting leer. Ziva suddenly placed him; he reminded her of Smerdyakov.

"Shut up, Tal." Dmitri lightly backhanded him across the face. "Go get us clearance to leave." Tal stood and went into the cockpit, accompanied by Juan. Dmitri set the knife on the table next to her unreachable SIG. "I never wanted things to end this way, Ziva."

"We didn't volunteer, asshole. This is all on you, you bastard," Tony spat.

"Tony…don't," she warned. He looked at her with disbelief and she shook her head sadly.

"I don't care what he does to me."

"I do."

"Ah, the fairytale," Dmitri cooed. "Tell me, Agent DiNozzo, what makes you so special? Why will you be the one she does not betray?"

The sudden ignition of the plane's engines prevented Ziva from hearing Tony's response.

Dmitri nodded in reply, rolling his eyes. "I see. Well, let us have a quiet flight. Another word from either of you and I will gag both of you."


	17. Chapter 17

Tony tried to lick his lips, but the wet gag prevented him from doing so. He was starting to get very concerned about Ziva. By his best estimates, Tushkevich had stabbed her an hour ago and she was getting progressively groggier, in spite of the bandage the bastard had eventually wrapped around her thigh. He couldn't accurately assess how much blood she'd lost, but the fact that it had dripped off the seat to form a small pool on the floor wasn't a good sign. Her eyes were closed and her head lolled to one side. Tony slid his foot across the floor to poke her with his toe. "Ee-ah? Ee-ah! Ooo oh-eh?"

She opened her eyes, shot him a dirty look and growled something unintelligible at him through her own gag. It was his fault they were in this particular predicament; he had been unable to restrain himself when, shortly after they'd taken off, Tushkevich had removed two familiar gaudy platinum rings from his pocket and slipped them onto her left hand. The action had been unbearable. He'd shouted a string of disconnected words meant to express his extreme displeasure, the balance of which had been swears.

Ziva had calmly replied, "He's only doing it to provoke you."

Tushkevich had slapped her hard across the face then gagged both of them. Feeling like an idiot, Tony had done his best to look contrite until her gaze had softened. He wasn't sure if she'd actually forgiven him or if staying mad had just become too much of an effort. He hoped for the former, but her current heavy-lidded look indicated that he might have to worry about more than just the guys with the guns. How much blood loss was too much? How long did it take for blood poisoning to occur? He knew she kept her weapons meticulously clean, but that was no guarantee. He tried to speak again, "Owch or leh?" He stared pointedly at her leg to make himself clear, wishing, for perhaps the first time in his life, that subtitles were involved.

He discovered that when she put in some effort, she was a lot better at talking through a gag than he was. "Hwhat d'you fink? It huts."

"Eh heesh ooo ach ah muff ah?"

He tried to grin as she gave him the same dismayed look he got every time he made a joke about her Moussad training. "I fink we're gong gown." He felt her foot against his. "Hwhatebber appen, I luff you."

"Uff ooo hooo." Hopefully his eyes were doing a better job than his mouth.

Her knowing smile faded as the cockpit door closed and Tushkevich rejoined them. She turned her face away as he caressed her cheek before sitting. "We will be landing soon." When she didn't acknowledge him, he reached over and pulled the gag from her mouth. "Are you curious about where?"

"How long have we been in the air?"

"A little over an hour."

She exhaled. "Ibiza, Mallorca, Menorca, Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily or Malta. Did I miss any?"

"Only if you meant to name something continental. You have always been a clever one, my princess."

"So which is it?"

"Corsica."

Tony tried to join the conversation. "An we oh hoo a easch?"

"Yes, Dmitri," she translated, "can we go to the beach?"

"You will have a lovely view of it, but I do not think you will be able to visit. So many potential prying eyes." He buckled his seatbelt then leaned forward, touching Ziva's arm in what looked like a gentle way. Tony wasn't about to trust Tushkevich at this point. "How is your leg?"

"How do you think? You stabbed me with a six inch knife and twisted it."

Tony groaned. He hadn't been able to see exactly what had happened until Tushkevich had stepped away. No wonder the wound had bled so much. "Ee-ah…"

Tushkevich ignored him. "I am sorry, my princess. There is no excuse for it. I was very angry and lost control. It will not happen again."

"I've heard that before." She shrank from Tushkevich's fingertips on her neck and Tony suddenly remembered the bruises he'd noticed there when he'd been reunited with her in Siberia. How often had the bastard hurt her in the time they'd been together? He strained against his bonds for a moment, wanting to show Tushkevich that an angry Anthony DiNozzo was even more dangerous than…well, more dangerous than Ziva on the condition that she stayed tied to the chair. Tushkevich had replaced the gag in her mouth. Tony realized that their feet were still touching and gave her a little tap for solidarity. There was something odd in her eyes when she looked at him, but she gave him a small smile.

The sound of a gun cocking drew his attention to Tushkevich. "You love her, Agent DiNozzo?"

He nodded, watching the gun's muzzle move from himself to Ziva and back again.

"I love her."

Tony shook his head in an emphatic 'no.'

"You presume to disagree?"

He nodded in spite of the fact that the gun was now pointed unwaveringly at him. Tushkevich rose and pulled down Tony's gag. He took a moment to work his jaw before answering, "If you really loved her, you wouldn't hurt her."

"You believe that she loves you?"

"It's not just a matter of what I believe. She does love me."

"Did she love you when she broke your nose?"

Tony stared at Tushkevich. He could only have known about that if Ziva had told him, but why would she have…he closed his eyes. She'd punched him only a few hours before the NCIS team had raided the townhouse in Paris. Maybe Tushkevich had asked her about it after seeing him bruised and swollen. That had to be it. He opened his eyes. "That was different."

"How so?"

"I was…the situation…" He didn't want to explain their private matters to Tushkevich. "I deserved it."

"And you do not think an unfaithful wife deserves some form of punishment?"

This one was easier. "I don't even know how to answer a question that stupid."

Tushkevich laughed without mirth, put Tony's gag back in place and landed a glancing blow on his right cheek. To Tony's surprise, Tushkevich was the one who cried out. Turning, he said, "I will do much worse to him if you try that again, Ziva." He resumed his seat, rubbing his ankle.

Tony smiled from the side of his face that didn't hurt. The contact Ziva made with his foot was much less forceful than the kick she'd delivered to Tushkevich's ankle. They remained in physical contact until the plane had landed and taxied to a private hangar. He sighed through his gag. The airport looked like the kind of place that would let its users smuggle anything for the right cut. It was doubtful they'd find help here.

Tal and Juan were already dragging Seir's limp body through the hatch. The unlucky Moussad officer had regained consciousness just after Tushkevich had gagged Tony and Ziva, only to be hit over the back of the head with the butt of Tushkevich's gun. Now he was about to be stored in the luggage compartment. They still didn't know if Tushkevich had invented the story about Seir's attempted betrayal. Tony wouldn't have put it past the guy.

Juan returned shortly and began to untie Ziva. Tony felt the muzzle of Tushkevich's gun pressed against his head again. "If either of you try anything, he dies."

Tony watched carefully as Ziva was detached from the chair and had her hands bound together. He wanted to see what happened when she stood. Juan held her arm and assisted her. The amount of blood on the chair and the back of her pants was unnerving. Tony could see she was trying unsuccessfully not to limp. As they reached the hatch, she turned, removed her gag with some effort and said, "Can I at least get a change of clothes?"

Tushkevich nodded and Tony could swear the man looked pale when he turned to untie him. When his arm was free, Tony pulled his own gag down and asked, "Do you know a good mob doctor you can call?"

Tushkevich bound his left hand to the cast on his right arm and yanked him roughly to his feet. "She is strong. She will be fine."

"She'd never let you hurt her if she had the choice."

"I realize that…now." He pushed Tony toward the hatch.

"Can I at least bring my jacket?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You did not say please."

"Please, can I bring my jacket?"

"Fine." He took it from the seat and carried as he followed him across the hangar to the waiting SUV. He moved to hand the jacket to Tony, but abruptly pulled it back. "But first…" He pawed through the pockets. The small box was in the last one he checked. He opened it curiously, snapped it shut and tossed it into a pile of old parts. "Idiot."

"Asshole."

Tushkevich punched him in the stomach, doubling him over for a moment. "Take your jacket and shut up."

Tony pressed close to Ziva as he clambered into the back seat. She rested her head on his shoulder. When he kissed her forehead, she felt warm. If no one found them soon, they were going to have to figure something out on their own. Juan climbed in next to him. From the front seat, Tushkevich gave him an angry glare that was only a few degrees shy of Gibbs. "Enjoy your time together."

Tony met his glare evenly. "I always do. Of course, I don't waste it stabbing and hitting her, so it's probably a different experience for me."

"I meant while you still can. If you test me, it will be much shorter than you would like." He turned and ignored them as Tal drove the SUV down a deserted road.

Tony let his head rest on Ziva's and whispered, "Either way, it's the rest of my life." The ring that had been in the empty box Tushkevich had thrown away dug into his elbow slightly, secure in the corner at the bottom of his sling, where he'd managed to put it moments after their unexpected guests had boarded the plane in the Azores. Gold was going to look so much better on her finger.


	18. Chapter 18

Jenny hung up her phone and made a beeline for the door, her mind focused on nothing but what she had to do in the moment. She hated getting calls from any agency informing her that there was a 'situation,' but the ones from Moussad could be counted on to be the worst. Pausing at Cynthia's desk, she said, "I'll be in MTAC. No interruptions. Please inform…"

"Jen, we need to talk," Gibbs interrupted, striding into the room with Abby and McGee on his tail. "They aren't dead."

Before Jenny could shush the announcement, Cynthia sprang out of her chair, "Agent DiNozzo and Officer David? That's wonderful!"

The room filled with happy chatter as Abby and McGee began explaining what had occurred. Jenny silenced everyone with a loud, "Stop. Now." All eyes turned to her. "How many other people know?"

"Just Ducky," Abby answered, somewhat cowed, "and he was going to tell Jimmy and Michelle."

"Abby, go tell them that they will not be sharing the news with anyone else." She fought the impulse to wring her hands. What was beyond the worst-case scenario? Her mind went through the possibilities, most of which resulted in violent, painful deaths for all involved. "This is not to get around the agency. Too many people know already."

"Hold on." Gibbs looked at her distrustfully. "You knew before we told you, Jen. Why?"

"You and McGee will find out with me in MTAC. Cynthia?"

"I won't say a word, Ma'am."

"Good. Go, Abby. And you two, with me." She led the way to MTAC, clearing the room when they arrived. She had promised herself that she would be staying in Washington from now on, but she had a feeling that her promise was about to be broken.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes and addressed her sullenly, "Jen, you better tell us why…"

"Shut up and stop giving me orders, Jethro. I'm not any happier about this than you are." He glowered and sank into a seat. She turned to the other man in the room. "Agent McGee, there should be two incoming transmissions. Put Tel Aviv on the main screen and the Israeli Embassy in an inset."

He looked at Gibbs uncertainly, but getting no indications that he should disobey, complied. "Um, yes, Ma'am."

She faced the screen, ignoring the glare she could feel burning holes in her back. She had been in the act of asking Cynthia to track down Gibbs and McGee and have them meet her in MTAC as soon as possible when he had interrupted. He probably assumed that she'd been suppressing information again, but the truth was she'd been just as sure as everyone else that Tony and Ziva had been killed in the fiery wreck…until she'd received the call in her office a few minutes previously, of course.

The first image to resolve was a familiar one. "Director David."

"Director Shepard. May I introduce Officer Bashan, our chief of American operations?"

The silver-haired man in the small inset nodded and she heard Gibbs mutter in the background, "Didn't know Israel needed American operations."

David brushed him off, "Semantics, Agent Gibbs. I am sure you noted during your visit earlier that Officer Bashan's main duties involve maintaining the security of the Embassy."

Jenny turned to Gibbs, who refused to meet her eyes. "You went to the Israeli Embassy looking for them?"

"I assure you, he was quite polite, Director Shepard," Bashan said, drawing her attention back to the screen. "I only regret that circumstances forced us into this ruse."

"Indeed, Bashan. If you are not aware by now, my daughter and Tony were not killed in a car accident."

"Yeah, we know, Director," Gibbs answered bitingly, moving to stand beside Jenny. "Very nice of you to let us in on the secret. It was real cute the way you hacked our computers and replaced their records. That one of your American operations? I'm sorry…security duties?"

Jenny gaped at him, suddenly understanding one of the reasons he was so upset. "Do we have proof of this?"

"I apologize, Director, but it was necessary at the time," David said in a conciliatory tone. "This morning we were unaware of where our target was and it was doubtful that he would have been drawn out by anything but a sincere reaction from NCIS had he been in the DC area. Unfortunately, the situation has changed."

"We can fake sincere, Abraham," Jenny replied, starting to feel as angry as Gibbs seemed to be. This was the second time in less than six months that Moussad was asserting itself over her agency. "Why the hell did you think it was necessary to fake the deaths of two of our agents, then breach our security to make us believe it?"

"Um, technically they breached our security then faked Tony and Ziva's deaths." McGee had moved to stand on Jenny's other side. "The dental records and DNA went into our system at 0138 today."

"You must be a very good programmer to have tracked us that specifically, Agent McGee," David acknowledged with a curt nod, "but the timing is irrelevant. The deception was necessary, though I now fear it was in vain. One hour ago we lost contact with the chartered jet taking Ziva and Tony to a safe house."

Gibbs scoffed. "So now you're going to tell us they died in a plane crash? So no bodies can be recovered? How convenient."

"I am afraid it is much worse than that, Agent Gibbs. We evacuated them from Washington today because we feared that their lives were in danger. Despite our best efforts, it appears that that may still be the case."

"Enough vague bullshit." In her peripheral vision, Jenny could see the corner of Gibbs' mouth curl up slightly. "What exactly is going on?"

"Dmitri Tushkevich is alive."

For what felt like an hour, the only sound in the room was the hum of machinery. David and Bashan waited patiently on the screen as the NCIS agents processed the news. For her part, Jenny was dumbfounded. She had seen Tushkevich's body in a pool of blood several months before. She was the first to speak. "Tushkevich is dead."

David sighed. "I am afraid not." McGee rushed back to the computer workstation as the photos flashed past. "These have all been taken in the past several weeks in Argentina and, most, recently, in Switzerland. We lost him in the south of France two days ago."

Jenny began to pace. "That explains the sudden rush to disappear Ziva, but why the complicated death scene?"

"Again, I am sorry for the wasted effort, Director, but it was necessary. There was a very real possibility that Tushkevich was in Washington and reports of Ziva's death could have drawn him out. As I said, we know now that this is not the case." David's exhalation was audible across the ocean. "Two hours ago, a private jet transporting Ziva and Tony landed in Ponta Delgada. It was scheduled to leave ninety minutes after landing, but departed after only twenty. At that point, we lost all telemetry on the aircraft."

Jenny tried not to laugh at the ludicrousness of David's admission. "You _lost_ them?"

David frowned. "We suspect there was a security breach. Bashan?"

"Ah, yes. I am afraid that is what may have occurred, sir." He stared down, shuffling papers on his desk. "We sent them with only one security officer and a pilot and we now have reason to believe that one or both of these men were involved in their disappearance."

Jenny waited for further explanations, but none were forthcoming. If Tushkevich had found Tony and Ziva, they could already be dead and the memo she was mentally drafting telling the agency to disregard the morning's memo could be moot. But if his only goal had been killing them, wouldn't he have just done it and left the bodies and the plane? He had to have some larger plan. She would have to call the NCIS Rota team and have them start sifting through available intel in preparation for her own team's arrival. If this were a quick trip, she could just put Cynthia in charge instead of finding a useless temporary fill-in; Cynthia could just run interference for two days. Two days. That would have to be enough. Jenny crossed her arms over her chest and faced the screen. "All right. What's our plan?"

"Excuse me?"

"Our plan for finding them, Director. I know that Tony and Ziva are both very capable agents, but we can't just assume that they're going to be able to get out of this on their own."

David eyed her appraisingly. "I suppose if I had not expected you to get involved, I would not have bothered to inform you of the situation. Very well. I will have a team at your naval air station in Rota within the hour."

"Good. We'll be there in a few hours. Shalom." She nodded to McGee, who ended the calls.

She turned slowly to face Gibbs, who raised an eyebrow in amusement. "We, Jen?"

"I suggest you and Agent McGee grab whatever you need from your desks because we're leaving for the airport in twenty minutes." She left MTAC without another word. He was probably going to remember he was angry in a minute or so and she had a lot of plans to throw together.


	19. Chapter 19

Ziva fought to keep her body tense. The pain in her left thigh was different than it had been on the plane when her body wasn't being subjected to a combination of high ground speed, old shocks and potholes. She had propped her knee against the back of the driver's seat in an effort to prevent her injured leg from being jarred every time the SUV went over a bump on the poorly maintained road, but the method was little better than slumping and going wherever she was pitched. The effort was draining her already depleted reserves.

When she could keep them open, she kept her eyes locked on the back of Dmitri's head rather than watching the road for landmarks like Tony was doing. There was very little chance they would be able to escape back to the airport prior to leaving the island and Dmitri wouldn't have left the plane and Seir alone if he was planning to remain on Corsica.

She wracked her brain, trying to remember where they would be able to go from here. Maps…maps of the Mediterranean…maps of the western Mediterranean…Corsica. This was going to depend on which direction they were driving. She sat up, her head feeling heavy as she lifted it from Tony's shoulder. He looked at her with concern and asked in a low voice, "How are you feeling?"

She took a moment to look out the window and assess the position of the setting sun. They were traveling north along the east coast of the island. They had to be heading to either another airport or a marina. There was still no way she could figure out where they were headed. She turned to Tony and gave him a weak smile. "I'd like a hot dog, I think."

"Not pizza?"

She gave a single soft snort of laughter through her nose. "I told you, once a week and we had it two days ago."

"At least we're in Italy, the ancestral homeland of pizza." His rough stubble grazed her cheek as rubbed his nose against hers.

"France," she corrected, closing her eyes and pressing herself closer to him. If she kept her face in the crook of his neck, she could focus on his scent instead of that of her own blood.

"So…croissants?"

"Shut up." She opened her eyes at the sound of Dmitri's harsh command and saw him glaring at them through narrowed eyes. "You will eat when we arrive at our destination."

She turned her head slightly but did not move it from Tony's shoulder. "Our final destination or after this car ride is over?"

"I will decide when we get to the boat."

She pushed further. "So we're getting there by boat?"

"Yes."

"And where will we be going?" Her mental map of the region shrank to include only the possibilities within practical distance by the kind of boat Dmitri was likely to have secured.

He held up a pill bottle and a bottle of water. "Would you like to play a game?"

"No."

"Do not decide until you hear the terms. In this bottle are prescription painkillers, Percocets. Does that sound appealing?"

She winced involuntarily as Tal took a sharp curve and the weight of the two men in the back seat pressed her against the door. "Oho! Keep forgetting this thing doesn't bank like a jet! Ha!"

Dmitri didn't smile, ignoring Tal and remaining focused on Ziva. "You do not have to admit anything. But, our game – it is very simple. If you guess correctly where we are going, I will give you two of these pills."

"And if I guess wrong?"

"Juan will dislocate something on your lover's body. His thumb, I think."

"I'm not playing," she answered without hesitation.

"What if I give you a hint?"

"What if you change your mind about our destination as soon as I answer? Or what if I answer correctly and you have your goon hurt Tony regardless?"

"You have such a low opinion of me, Ziva? May I remind you that you are the traitor, not I. As punishment for your doubts regarding my honor, I am altering the game. No hint, one guess. If you are wrong, he loses a finger in addition to the dislocated thumb."

She weighed her options. She could risk simply saying 'Italy' – it would no doubt be correct, but she doubted Dmitri would allow her to give such a vague answer. If they weren't headed for the mainland, they had to be going somewhere in the Tuscan Archipelago. Most of those islands were thinly populated. There were two possible options and one that was far more likely. She was confident, but she wasn't sure she wanted to risk one of Tony's fingers. He spoke up unexpectedly before she could, "Elba. We're going to Elba."

"Hmm." Dmitri shook the pills in the bottle and surveyed them. "You are correct, Agent DiNozzo. How did you know?"

"You remind me of Napoleon and I'm highly motivated by the threat of amputation. Give her the pills."

He laughed. "I do not think so. Unfortunately, my terms were violated. As you answered correctly, you will not be harmed, but since you answered instead of Ziva…I am afraid my princess will not reap any benefits." He gave the bottle a final shake before facing forward.

She adjusted her position, shifting her bound hands to Tony's thigh as she tried to hide in his neck again. He kissed her temple softly. "Sorry."

"For what?"

"You could be grooving on pain meds right now. Well, about to be grooving on pain meds because they'd take a few minutes to kick in, but you know what I mean."

"I'll be fine as long as I'm not running any marathons on it." She couldn't deny that she would have liked the pills, but she could cope with pain. She rested her chin on his shoulder and saw that he was staring at her leg again. "Stop it. It's going to be fine."

"If you believed that you wouldn't be so eager to convince me."

She wasn't sure what was more unsettling – that he knew her so well or that it didn't bother her that he knew her so well. She changed the subject. "I didn't know you knew so much about geography."

"I'm just full of surprises." He winked and she made a mental note to ask him how he'd found out later.

They were still smiling at each other a few minutes later when Dmitri yelled something and Tal swore loudly, yanking the wheel around to make a hard right. The tires of the SUV skidded on the loose gravel of the side road. Tal slammed on the brakes as he lost control almost completely. Ziva was aware of shouting, intense pain in her leg and a large bounce before she blacked out.


	20. Chapter 20

The violent crunching, shattering and clanking seemed to go on forever, but Tony felt disoriented for no more than a few seconds when the SUV came to a stop at the bottom of the embankment. The dust settled quickly and he decided that the bushes weren't growing in midair; the vehicle was just on its side. He was sitting in the middle of the back seat and the man on his right was already opening the door and climbing out. He did a quick self-inventory and found that no nerves were screaming in protest. He probably had his seatbelt to thank for his apparent lack of injuries. It was keeping him relatively secure, suspended in the center of the rear bench seat, which was good because he'd hate to think he was crushing…"Ziva!"

He snapped his head to the left (down?) and called her name again. She didn't respond, but lay unmoving against the door. In the gloomy twilight, he could see at least one glaring injury that she hadn't had prior to the accident. The bloody gash on her forehead that seemed to continue around the side of her head looked nasty. He concentrated on her chest and, to his relief, saw that it was moving faintly as she breathed. It was a small comfort. He fought to keep his voice calm as he cried, "Ziva? Ziva, please…" He tried to reach for her, but his left hand was still firmly bound to his cast.

To his surprise, the ropes were almost immediately untied. The cabin light came on. Tal was either dead or unconscious in the driver's seat. Tushkevich was leaning over the front seat, apparently unharmed. "I cannot reach her. Check her pulse."

"I don't need you to tell me how to take care of her," Tony snapped. Even if Tushkevich wasn't directly at fault for this particular incident, it was still most certainly his responsibility. If they were home they could be safe on the couch watching a movie or a basketball game. He would have his arm around her and, depending on how engrossed he was with the television, he would be sneaking little kisses. Instead, he was stretching his hand toward her unconscious form in a totaled SUV on an Italian island. French island. She'd told him it was French and she would be the one to know. He'd only guessed correctly on Tushkevich's question earlier because he'd heard Tal mention Elba as they'd pulled out of the airport, a remark that had drawn a threat from Tushkevich. Up until that point, he would have accepted Elba as an imaginary island where Napoleon hung out between some excellent adventures with Bill and Ted.

He wished desperately that their current predicament could just be part of some dumb movie. The tips of his fingers touched her neck tenuously. Her skin was too warm and when he finally found her pulse it was racing. He looked at Tushkevich, who shook his head impatiently. "Well?"

"Her heart's beating and she's breathing, but that's about all I can tell you. I need to take my seatbelt off. Give me a second." Tony did his best to brace himself against the floor. Rather than releasing the buckle, he loosened the belt and found that he wasn't supported well enough. "I can't do it. If I undo the belt, I'm going to fall on her."

Tushkevich considered for a moment before pulling himself up through his open door on what was now the top of the SUV. He had an unintelligible conversation with Juan before disappearing completely through his door. "Where do you think you're…" Tony's accusation went unheeded as the two men outside began struggling with the rear gate. He narrated just to hear the sound of his own voice. "Okay, everything's gonna be okay. Scumball and Johnny Argentina out there are gonna get you out the back and I'll be right behind you. When you wake up, we'll kick their asses. Or burros. Does that idiom translate?"

He stopped speaking as the pneumatic hinge hissed and the rear gate opened out like it was the exit of a tunnel. Tushkevich stooped and took the few steps to the back seat. Stretching out on his side, he squirmed into the small space between the vehicle's roof and the top of the seat. He ran his hands over Ziva's body as he checked her for injuries that would make moving her difficult. Tony restrained the disapproving comments he longed to make by telling himself that Tushkevich was doing what any medic would do, given the situation. He eventually looked up at Tony. "I do not think it will hurt her if I get her out of the car."

"You checked her neck?"

"Of course."

"And her back?"

"Yes."

"What about her ribs? If she has cracked ribs you could pierce an organ by moving her."

"I do not want to harm her any more than you do."

Tony scoffed, "Yeah, because you've done a lot to prove that up to now."

"Perhaps I could leave both of you here until the fuel leaking from the car ignites?"

He had a point. It would be pretty awful if everyone at NCIS found out they hadn't been killed in a flaming car accident only to find out that had, just in a different country. Tony nodded grimly. "Okay, get her out. I'll be right behind you."

"I am sure you will be." Tushkevich worked quickly to undo Ziva's seatbelt and maneuver her body into a position where he could pull her free. They disappeared out the rear gate just as Tony released his own seatbelt and dropped into the spot where she had just been. He crawled out carefully to avoid bumping his arm on anything. No need to reinjure himself after coming through the crash without a scratch.

Standing up straight, he took a moment to observe their surroundings. Nothing was visible in the growing darkness, unless trees and scraggly shrubs counted. No lights shone anywhere in the nearby terrain. Where were they going to get medical help? Tony spun on his heel, looking for Ziva. Tushkevich was struggling up the embankment with her in his arms, following Juan, who was toting the two bags Moussad had allowed them to pack. Tony thought back. Had it really taken less than twelve hours for their lives to change completely? He took a moment to transfer the ring, still hidden safely in his sling, to the fifth pocket of his jeans.

He picked his way up the steep slope, taking his time. Escaping was secondary now. If Ziva had needed a doctor prior to the accident, her need was now even more urgent. At the very least, they needed transportation. There were roads, so it stood to reason that there were people and cars somewhere. He crested the hill and saw Tushkevich leaning over Ziva, who he had propped against the two bags. All thoughts suddenly refocused, he walked directly to them, pushed Tushkevich aside roughly and squatted next to her. "I think you've done enough."

The gun was pressed to his head in predictable fashion. "You are in no position to be giving orders, Agent DiNozzo."

"She doesn't have time for this." Tony touched Ziva's forehead gently, pushing her hair out of the way to get a better look at the cut. She moaned softly as he contacted a spot on the side of her head that seemed swollen. "Ziva? Ziva, it's Tony. Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me?"

Tushkevich had put his weapon away and knelt on her other side. "It is a good sign if she wakes."

Tony made a face. "Ya _think_?"

"Gibbs?" Ziva murmured.

He smiled in relief. "No, it's me."

"Tony?" Her eyelids fluttered open.

"Hey. Don't scare me like that."

"My driving…is much better…than that," she said slowly, pushing herself into an upright sitting position. "Did Dmitri…"

"I am quite unharmed, my princess."

She gave him a contemptuous glance. "That's a shame."

Tushkevich didn't reply, but took out the pill bottle he had teased her with earlier and shook two into his palm. "Here."

Tony squeezed her hand as she accepted and swallowed the white tablets. "Those should hold you until we get to the hospital."

"She will have a doctor when we arrive on Elba. We must move now."

"Are you kidding?"

"We do not have time to argue, Agent DiNozzo, and as I am the one who is armed…" He pointed down the dirt road they had gone skidding off of. "The boat is roughly a kilometer down this road. I will carry Ziva."

"I can walk," she said defiantly, standing with some effort. She swayed and Tony slipped his arm around her waist. "And I don't want you touching me, Dmitri."

In spite of her protests, Tushkevich leaned over and swept her legs out from under her. "It is the least I can do. Juan, get their bags. I do not want him carrying them until we have searched them."

"Dmitri, put me down!"

"Stop thrashing. You will thank me for this later."

She huffed, "Fine." Tony decided that either the meds were affecting her judgment or she was in a lot more pain that she wanted to let on. He walked beside Tushkevich, holding her hand.

They hadn't gone more than a few steps when they were halted by a voice. "A little help?" At the sound of Tal's shout, Tushkevich stopped, waving Juan down the slope. Arriving at the SUV, he bent over to look through the windshield. "That's right. I'm still in here."

Tushkevich shouted back, "Are you all right, Tal?"

"My head hurts like I've been on a three-day bender. Otherwise, I think so, but my leg is pinned under the wheel. Think you guys could give me a hand?"

"It is a shame you are not a horse." Tony watched in shock as Tushkevich nodded and Juan calmly fired two shots through the cracked glass. He tucked his gun into his belt and turned, rapidly ascending the embankment and picking up the two bags. Seeing Tony's face, Tushkevich shrugged. "I would have felt guilty putting down a horse."

"Bastard," Ziva muttered, her head leaning against his shoulder. Her grip on Tony's hand slackened as she drifted, but he didn't let go as they made their way down the road in silence and creeping darkness, moving toward the sound of the sea.


	21. Chapter 21

Ziva had no idea where she was, only that she was cold and she hurt all over. The last time she'd woken feeling like this she'd found herself in a tiny prison cell somewhere in Croatia. No. That was two times ago. The last time had been Paris and she'd had a hangover.

Now she was wishing for a hangover for perhaps the first time in her life. A hangover explained only the pain in her head though. And the nausea. And the fact that she was holding on even though she was lying on the floor. Which was moving. Had she gotten drunk and fallen down the stairs? She had neither stairs nor alcohol in her apartment.

She concentrated as hard as she could. There were steps she had to follow in a situation like this hardwired into her brain. _Evaluate yourself. Evaluate the situation. Concoct a plan to deal with both. Modify as necessary. Do not question why until all threats have been neutralized._ Good. First day at Moussad kind of stuff. Unless your surname was David, in which case you'd learned the rules before you could spell 'David.' Gibbs had a lot of rules too. Usually she avoided the mental comparisons of Gibbs and her father, but now…now she needed to focus so she could do a self-inventory and find out what was wrong with her.

Wherever she was, it didn't smell very nice. She opened her eyes slowly. The light was far too bright. She moaned to pass the time while her eyes adjusted. The smell was coming from a puddle on the floor in front of her face. She couldn't remember what she'd eaten last, or when, but she was fairly certain the pinkish red swirls in the vomit were not remnants of a meal.

Stomach pain and nausea. Check.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Her peripheral vision took in what details there were to be observed in the room. Knobs jutted out from the faces of many small cabinets. She was on the floor, but there was a bed built into the wall. A blanket trailed from it. Had she fallen out of the bed? She hadn't fallen out of bed since she'd been four. She'd landed on a metal toy tank and scraped her leg. While she'd sat on the floor, holding her leg and wiping away the few tears she couldn't stop from leaking out, her father had stood over her, lecturing her on the importance of always cleaning up her toys before she went to bed. Then he'd tended her small injury, kissed her forehead and tucked her safely into bed again.

Where had her mother been? She wouldn't have gotten the lecture if…Tali hadn't been born less than two days before. Ziva remembered staring at the squirming bundle in her mother's arms and being unable to equate it with the beach ball her mother had been inexplicably hiding in her stomach for the previous few months. Stomach pain and nausea could mean she was pregnant. She gasped. How was she going to tell Tony? Tony! Where was he? Heh. When Abby had jokingly asked if they were using protection, Tony had confidently announced that she had an IED and she had said she'd detonate it if she got pregnant. She couldn't be pregnant. She had an IUD.

Wait. She already had a reason for her stomach pain. She was throwing up blood, so she was most likely bleeding internally. Great. What had she moved on to? Her leg. She ran her hand down and her fingertips encountered the soft edge of a bandage. Something was wrong with her left thigh that had required a bandage. She had fallen out of bed and landed on a toy. When she was four. What had happened recently? Gunshots? The last time she'd heard a gunshot she'd gotten a chance to pet a panda. He was soft, like the bandage wrapped around the stab wound Dmitri had given her.

Dmitri. He wasn't dead and she was in the middle of being kidnapped by him. Leg pain. Check.

She squeezed her eyes closed as the room moved. Rooms didn't move. Rooms on planes moved. Tony had been tied to the chair across from her on the plane, but they'd gotten in a car after that. Had they boarded a boat? Their boat had exploded in Sanremo. She'd trained herself to think in terms of plurals during her last mission; it was really just Dmitri's boat. She had been so sure the explosion had killed McGee and Tony. Where was Tony?

Unable to fight off the nausea, she turned her head and retched. More red this time. Her hair was about to land in it. She remembered holding back Adi's hair while she threw up after having a few too many margaritas on their trip to…Corsica? She'd never been to Corsica with Adi. Right. Kidnapped. She touched her forehead as she collapsed back onto her back and found another bandage wrapped there.

Massive headache. Check.

She didn't have the energy to do any further self-inventory. She wasn't going anywhere if she couldn't get off the floor. She couldn't even pick up her head to see who it was that had opened the door. A familiar voice immediately comforted her, "Ziva, how did you get…she's throwing up again." Tony's face shimmered into view. "Ziva, can you hear me?"

"Hey. I'm glad you're here." She didn't have to keep thinking if Tony was here to handle things.

"Yeah, well, that'll teach me a lesson about going to the bathroom." He looked away. "Help me get her back on the bed."

A man with a dark complexion lifted her and set her carefully down on a softer surface than the floor. The door closed with a thud a moment later. "That wasn't Dmitri."

"No, that was his new Ivan." Tony had his head in a cabinet and his voice was muffled.

She thought back. "Johnny Argentina?"

"That's what I've been calling him, but his name is Juan." He used some paper towels from the roll he had grabbed to clean up the floor. "I'd ask how you feel, but this is…"

"Vomit. McGee calls it puke."

"Yeah, it's that." He finished what he was doing and disappeared from her line of vision for a moment. She heard running water. She'd missed the sink in her once-over of the room? She realized she wasn't sure where the door was either. When she tried to sit up and look, Tony delicately pushed her back down. He sat next to her and gently washed her face with a warm, damp cloth. "Just tell me when you need the bucket."

"We have a bucket?" He held it up in his left hand and she saw that his right arm was in a sling.

"How did you…oh, right. Panda."

"Uh-huh. I think the more important thing for you to remember right now is how you hurt your head."

"Did someone hit me with a…tank?"

"Not quite. We were riding in the back of an SUV after we got out of the plane…"

"And we crashed. We skidded off the road and…and what?"

"You got hurt when we rolled over. Well, hurt more. Dmitri stabbed your leg on the plane. You remember that we're with Dmitri?"

She shook her head, yawning. "I'm with you."

"Yeah."

"You'll stay?"

"Of course. You rest and I'll be here."

"Hold me?"

She felt his body along her side and his arm low across her hips. "Am I hurting you?"

"No." She was most certainly in pain, but she doubted anything he did would affect that. "So gentle…"

"I'm doing my best."

"Love you."

"I love you, too, Ziva. Can you just do me one favor?"

"I'll try."

"Let me know if you're gonna be sick again."

"Right. Bucket." She drifted off, experiencing a moment when she felt no pain just before she lost consciousness.

* * *

Dmitri peered into the darkness, frustrated that he had no set of twinkling lights to steer toward. He trusted the navigational instruments, but he always felt better if he could see where he was going. If Tal had survived, he could be the one piloting the ship through the fog right now. "Idiot should have kept his mouth shut," he mumbled to himself, making a minor course correction.

He looked over his shoulder as Juan joined him on the small bridge. "She bleeds, señor."

"She has been bleeding all day." He felt a pang of regret that he wished would go away. "Is she getting worse?"

"She bleeds from inside." Juan mimed vomiting. "There is much blood."

"We are less than half an hour from Elba. She will have a doctor there."

"Sí, señor, un doctor." He crossed his arms and stared through the window.

"She will be fine," Dmitri confirmed. "Fine."


	22. Chapter 22

Tony pushed the gauzy bandage up Ziva's forehead and pressed the back of his hand against her skin. Holding her close for the past twenty minutes, he'd been well aware that she was far too hot, but the hand-on-the-forehead test just made it that much more real. She needed medicine, probably by IV at this point. The Percosets had never had a chance to work. Halfway to the boat she'd thrown up for the first time, the two partially dissolved tablets sticking to the back of Tushkevich's shirt.

It had surprised Tony that Tushkevich hadn't been more upset. Instead of cutting off her finger or some equally inappropriate response, he'd murmured words of comfort and promises that she would be taken care of. When they'd arrived at the boat, he'd passed her off to Juan like she was a sack of potatoes and hadn't checked on her since. There was something weird going on with the guy, like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to kiss Ziva or kill her. Tony wasn't sure which would be worse. No, he knew which would be worse.

He found her racing pulse easily on her warm neck. The fever and rapid heart rate weren't new; they were probably a result of a fast spreading infection introduced by the knife wound. The shallow breathing, however, was new and getting worse.

He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the narrow bunk so his back was to her. His eyes were drawn to a small pile of bloody cloth in the corner. After he'd deposited Ziva on the bunk in the small cabin they were spending the voyage in, Juan had given Tony a fresh pair of her pants from their bags and some towels so he could clean her up after the stabbing and the car accident. The Argentinean had also brought a first aid kit, sans cutting implements. Although he severely doubted its efficacy at this point, Tony had used the entire tube of antibiotic ointment on her two major bloody wounds and numerous small cuts. She'd been unconscious through most of that. It had probably been for the best at that point.

He looked at her over his shoulder. She seemed…he knew how she looked when she was sleeping and this was very different. Even if he wasn't ever going to admit it, he sometimes did watch her sleep. He liked seeing her peaceful and completely relaxed. When she was awake, even when she was totally comfortable, she was always alert. It wasn't a problem for him. She wouldn't be Ziva if she weren't always ready for action. It was only when she was asleep that she lost her edge. He just liked knowing that he was the only one who saw her at her most vulnerable. Right now she seemed vulnerable but distressed. That was it. Or maybe he was just projecting. He certainly felt distressed.

The rumble of the boat's engines changed pitch. He stood and walked to the small porthole. Lights were visible in the portholes and on the decks of the rows of boats they were now passing. They must have arrived. He returned to Ziva's side, sitting on the bed again. Stroking her cheek, he said softly, "Ziva? Wake up. We're here and we're gonna get you some real help now." Her eyes remained closed and he raised his voice, "No, no, I know I've been providing excellent awkward one-handed bandaging, but I think you should still see a real doctor. Don't you agree? Ziva?"

He was shaking her shoulder now and still not getting any response. He leaned down to embrace her, feeling her hot skin against his cheek and warm breath in his ear. "If you wake up, I'll tell you what I did when I took your pants off. It's gonna be a huge shock. Interested?" He kissed her lips gently and she didn't move. "Well, that didn't work the last time I tried it either. Well, if you must know, I was very well behaved. I just took off your pants, washed off…" he trailed off. He didn't want to tell her how much of her blood he'd been washing down the drain and tossing on the floor.

The boat clunked against a dock. Tony carefully readjusted the bandage around Ziva's head and the one he'd wrapped around the outside of her new pants in case the wound bled through the one he'd wrapped around her thigh. "I'm gonna feel a whole lot better once you're in the hospital, stitched up, drugged and eating Jell-O, which I know you love."

He kept up his meaningless chatter until the door opened a few minutes later, admitting Tushkevich alone. "She is worse?"

"Yeah." Tony fought to keep the resentment from his voice. If he acted too antagonistically, he risked retribution on Ziva, either through new injuries or withholding of medical care. Tushkevich was too unpredictable to take chances with. Tony gave her hand a light squeeze. "I can't wake her. We need to get her to a hospital."

He nodded in response, moving to stand over them both. "I will call a doctor when we arrive at our destination. It is a short drive from here. Juan is getting the car now."

"She's bleeding internally. You know how they fix that? Surgery!" Tony stood, bringing himself eye to eye with his rival. Rival? Rivalries only counted if the goal hadn't already been decided. It wasn't the World Series; it was a relationship. He and Ziva had one and she didn't want one with Tushkevich no matter what he tried. Tony clenched his left hand into a fist, hoping he could make himself convincing enough in other ways. "Listen, it's very simple. She needs to go to the hospital or she's going to die, and then you won't get whatever it is you want from her."

"Why are you so sure I do not want her to die?"

"Because you could have just killed both of us already, but you're carting us around the Mediterranean like we're on an island hopping tour."

"Hm." Tushkevich gave him an appraising look. "Perhaps you are not as stupid as I originally assumed. Tell me, do you know _why_ I have not killed you yet?"

"Nope. And I don't really care at the moment. All I know is that you don't want her to die just yet because you've got some other agenda working here and it would be pretty dumb on your part have worked so hard just to have that happen before you've accomplished whatever you wanted to do when you kidnapped us." He resumed his seat on the bed, pleased that he seemed to have confused Tushkevich with his rambling. He took Ziva's had again and leaned over her. "Next stop, hospital."

He kissed her cheek when Tushkevich did indeed cave. "Assuming that you are right and I have a vested interest in keeping Ziva alive, how do you suggest I explain her injuries without arousing suspicion when we arrive at the hospital?"

"You can just tell them we had an accident on the boat, or something. She was in the kitchen…I'm sorry, galley…and we were hit by a rogue wave or we ran aground on a sandbar. The refrigerator fell on her and the knife she was holding ended up in her thigh. They'll buy it."

"You have been thinking about this for some time?"

"No, I just watch a lot of movies so it's all right there when I need it. So, let's get going. I won't blow your cover or tell anyone what's going on if you just make sure she gets the help she needs." Tony winced slightly before adding, "Please."

Tushkevich settled his hand on the butt of his gun. "Very well. You will go with Juan and I will stay with Ziva at the hospital."

"Uh-uh, no way. I'm staying with her."

"I will make things very simple for _you_ now, Agent DiNozzo. If your chief desire is to stay with Ziva, we will all go to my lovely, secluded property where I will call the local and very discreet veterinarian to treat her. If you would prefer she go to the hospital, you will go with Juan and behave yourself."

Tony took a moment to look at Ziva before answering. Her pale, unmoving features were enough to prompt him to answer, "Okay. I just want her to be safe."

"Of course. A hostage is no good dead." Tushkevich lifted Ziva into his arms and Tony followed him out of the room and off the boat.

He waited to ask the question now burning inside him until they were settled in the large black Mercedes sedan. "So, if we're hostages, who are you gonna ransom us to? The US or Israel?"

Tushkevich, holding Ziva in his lap as they drove through dark streets, grinned. "I never said you were _my_ hostages. As you know, I am merely a supplier."

When he stepped out of the car at the brightly lit entrance of a hospital several minutes later, he didn't allow Tony to say goodbye to Ziva. Tony craned his neck, looking out the back window for some time after the building had disappeared from sight. The ring in his pocket dug into his hip slightly. He hoped the fact that he still had it wouldn't be something he would have to regret for the rest of his life.


	23. Chapter 23

McGee sat in a seat near the rear of the small plane's cabin, quietly wincing with each biting sip of…he realized he didn't even know which bottle he'd grabbed from the onboard liquor cabinet. He reached down to the floor beside his feet and checked the label – Jameson Irish Whiskey. He was drinking whiskey straight? He placed his glass carefully in the cup holder built into the arm of the chair. With all the throwing up he'd done earlier in the day, he knew that drinking on an empty stomach was not one of his better options, but he thought it would give him a good excuse for hiding in the bathroom if Gibbs and Shepard continued to go at it for the entire flight.

"He has every right to question why you're randomly visiting an overseas Navy base on a whim!"

"It's an NCIS installation too and I don't see why I need clearance from higher ups to perform spot inspections of teams working for my agency. I'm the damn Director!"

He checked his watch and opened a can of cashews that had been sitting on the cabinet where he'd found the whiskey. The trip to Spain would supposedly last eight hours once they got off the ground. Considering they'd been sitting on the tarmac for close to two hours, much to the loud, angry frustration of his superiors, the trip was going to be either a long flight to Rota or a short cab ride home. The SecNav was not pleased by Shepard's spur of the moment trip and they'd yet to gain clearance to leave.

McGee had to remind himself that this was all happening so they could do whatever was necessary to help Tony and Ziva. They were in trouble. The teleconference with Director David certainly hadn't done anything to reassure him that Moussad would be taking care of the situation without the assistance of NCIS. Unless, of course, that had been the point of the virtual meeting and Moussad had some other agenda that they were using NCIS to exploit. Or it was just another ruse and Ziva was on some other secret mission altogether and Tony was just along for the ride. Or they were on an unauthorized vacation, lying on a beach somewhere sipping frozen drinks with little umbrellas in them. Thinking about what Moussad was up to gave McGee a headache that had nothing to do with the shouting match in the plane.

"How long are they going to keep us here asking us to be patient?"

"We could leave."

"Don't try to tell me you're going to let Moussad handle this."

"I just meant we could probably get commercial tickets and be on our way before we get official clearance to get going. Maybe they're waiting for Quincy to get here before they let you go…"

"Nice try Jethro, but I'm not getting off this plane and letting you and McGee go without me."

McGee closed his eyes. The wave of positive energy he'd been riding since his discovery that Tony and Ziva hadn't died in the car wreck had dissipated almost instantly the moment Director David had shared the information that Dmitri Tushkevich was still alive. Now he just felt tired. He rubbed his upper arm, trying to feel the scar from his first and only bullet wound, sustained during the operation in Siberia when Tushkevich had supposedly died.

Remembering the op reminded him that he hadn't been the only one injured. Ziva had almost died. He had pulled her through the underground tunnel connecting the bunker and the house on an office chair, fighting the urge to ask her if it had all been worth it. In a reaction he'd later explained away as shock, he'd been angry with her because he had a painful gunshot wound in his arm but everyone was concerned about her, even though she gotten herself into the situation by seducing the arms dealer in the first place. Her inability to stand when they'd reached the stairs had erased all of his strange animosity, but it had been there. The memory filled him with guilty shame. He finished the contents of his glass and tried not to choke.

"Just explain to them why you're going and we'll be in the air."

"I can't tell them the real reason why! Both NCIS and Moussad confirmed _he_ was dead and you know that that bastard Fitzgerald at the CIA has been waiting for any reason to attack us after we almost got him fired."

"Uh-huh. And you think covering it up is going to be better? What happens when it comes out later?"

"Not everything comes out, Jethro."

"Yes it does. Eventually, it does." Gibbs nodded to McGee and took his own bottle from the cabinet, sitting across from Shepard with two glasses. "Want to share, or do you want your own like McGee?"

He didn't bother to defend himself. Sitting in the back, far away from everyone else, with his own bottle of whiskey only looked dramatic. He'd already decided not to drink any more. The plane was uncomfortably warm and the alcohol was muddling his thoughts. He stood and moved to a seat closer to Gibbs and Shepard, offering them his cashews. "Nuts?"

"You have no idea," Shepard muttered, taking a handful just as their pilot stepped popped out of the cockpit to inform them they were preparing to take off. "About time."

"So what did you really tell the SecNav?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean telling the Navy you feel like taking two of your agents on a trip to Spain to inspect the troops isn't the kind of story that gets you a private jet."

"Well, it obviously did because we're about to take off."

"We're gonna be in a confined space for hours. Do you want to end this now or talk about it the whole time?"

McGee buckled his seatbelt, wondering if it would be too obvious if he moved back to his original seat.


	24. Chapter 24

Dmitri tented his fingers and passed the time by exhaling loudly. He had been waiting for news on Ziva's condition since a harried nurse had practically shoved him into the hallway outside the surgical suites nearly an hour before. He was unclear on what, exactly, was being done; his Italian had slipped more than he had thought. He had heard something about stitches and antibiotics, but he may have just been projecting parts of his own treatment plan onto whatever the doctors were saying. He had definitely heard the phrase 'at least three hours.' Checking his watch, he saw that only one had passed. He stood and walked down the hall in search of a vending machine or cafeteria.

There would be major problems if he were not able to get her out of the hospital before his buyers began to make noise. It remained only to decide whether he would share a certain bit of intelligence with them. His fee would not only increase threefold, but he would also be able to see the look on Ziva's face when she learned she was not the only one capable of keeping a secret. A nagging voice somewhere in the back of his mind told him that going through with even the sale would most likely result in her death and he was gripped by a spasm of conscience. All the work he'd done to convince himself that she deserved it surfaced to combat it. _She betrayed me. She chose another man over me. She never loved me._

Lost in thought, he walked directly into a fat man in a loud shirt. "Hey, watch where you're goin' pal!"

Resisting the urge to relieve his stress by squishing the man's insolent, piggy face with his fist, Dmitri took a step back. "I apologize. I was not paying attention."

"Yeah, I noticed but, hey, no hard feelings, pal." The man's grip was sweaty and weak as he reached out and shook Dmitri's hand. "I'm just glad to hear someone speak English. I been waitin' almost two hours for the doctor to come back and check on my…" he trailed off, looking sheepish. "Well, you don't wanna hear about my problems."

"I am no doctor, so I could not be of much help. Tell me, do you know where I could find some refreshment in this hospital?"

"They got a crappy little cafeteria downstairs. Take a left when you get outta the elevator and it's down the hall. Oh, and, pal?" He leaned in confidentially. "Just between you and me, stay outta the cathouse three streets over."

"Indeed." Dmitri walked swiftly away without a backward glance.

The fat man caught him at the elevator. "Hey, thought I'd join you, pal."

"Hm."

"Yeah, I'm on vacation with my wife and she's always goin' off on historical…just hit the button on the bottom there…anyway, she's always goin' off on historical tours and crap. I just wanted to have a little fun a few days ago and wouldn't you know it!" He clapped his hands together loudly. "I've learned my lesson…for the rest of this trip, anyway." He winked and slapped Dmitri on the back as they got out of the elevator and walked down the hall. "So what are you doin' in this place, pal? You look healthy to me…of course, I'm healthy as a horse except for…" He clapped his hands again and approached a refrigerator case containing desserts.

Dmitri opted not to further the conversation and found the coffee. He sniffed the thick black liquid that poured into his cardboard cup. It was surprisingly rich when he tasted it. He nearly collided with the fat man when he turned to take it to the register to pay for it. "Didn't answer my question, pal! What are you in for?"

"My wife is in surgery. We had an accident on our boat and I am quite eager to return to my seat and wait for news." He didn't bother to look at the denomination of the note he left on the counter for the bleary clerk and left the small basement room with his coffee.

The fat man followed him with a plateful of pastries. "So, you got your own boat, huh?"

* * *

Tony looked around the wide driveway and front yard of the gated home to which Juan had just chauffeured him. The flowering trees and lush lawn no doubt looked better in the daytime when one wasn't being coerced into behaving under threat of a loved one's death. He had a feeling the high brick walls surrounding the property had been built to keep people out, but they weren't going to make escaping very easy. As he stood from the back door that Juan had just opened, he looked at the gate. The first ten feet would be a struggle with his injured arm, but getting over the curling, spiked irons at the top would be the really fun past.

He sighed and allowed himself to be guided into the house. Ziva was going to be in the hospital for at least a few days, so he had time to formulate an escape plan he could impress her with when she arrived. It could even give him time to figure out why Tushkevich was keeping them alive.

Tony suddenly realized that they hadn't actually entered the house, but some kind of adjacent structure. He looked around the room Juan led him into and laughed out loud. "This is some massive joke right?"

"The home's previous owner wanted to bring tigers to island to be his personal pets, but the local government refused to allow the transport of such dangerous animals. Señor Dmitri liked the supposed irony of keeping his señora in a tiger cage."

"Can't say I have much experience with tiger enclosures. Panda enclosures, yeah." Tony looked around the artificial rock cliffs and painted jungles on the walls. There was even a water feature that streamed down from the upper level into a waterfall that ended in a shallow pond. He adjusted his arm in the sling. "And elephant enclosures, too."

"Yes. Your fall into the pit was very comical."

"Figures he would show you that."

"I saw it on a news program. The story about the American panda was internationally televised. It's the reason Señor Dmitri left Argentina."

"Hold on…you're telling me…" he paused as all thoughts of that day at the Zoo were eclipsed by something he should have noticed the second Juan started talking. "Okay, forget whatever I was just going to say about this being Gibbs' fault. Since when do you speak English?"

"Since I was very young."

"Riiiight. And why is this just coming up now?" Tony sat on one of the rock outcroppings. "Scumball has been an ass about your supposed lack of communication skills since you took us hostage."

Juan left the room, pulling a barred metal gate closed behind him with a clang. "My feelings for my current employer are of no concern to you. I do not wish to speak to him more than absolutely necessary, so I feign ignorance."

Tony rose and walked toward the gate. "What's your beef with him?"

"He is not a good man."

"Duuuh." He took a few staggering steps to physically express the sheer idiocy of the statement. "What was you're first clue? That he's an arms dealer?" He leaned against the bars, hanging one arm out. "I got nothing but time to listen and it's not like he's gonna believe anything I tell him, so what difference does it make if we have a little sharing circle?"

"Do you know what Señor Dmitri talked about right up until the moment we boarded your plane in Ponta Delgada? How much he loved his wife. And what does he do five minutes after he finds her?"

"Stabs her," Tony breathed. He had managed to focus himself for a casual interrogation just enough to forget about Ziva for a few minutes. He pulled his arm back through the bars and slipped it into his pocket just to make sure the ring hadn't burned an actual hole through it. She was going to flip out, hopefully in a good way, when she finally saw it. He'd even gotten the words down…

He forced himself to pay attention as Juan continued "…and I have worked for his father, Señor Alexander, for many years. He has been good to my family. I am here only out of loyalty to him. He is a good man."

"Isn't he an arms dealer too?"

"Yes. But he is a good man."

Tony laughed. "Jack Sparrow said the same thing about pirates."

"Señor Alexander is no pirate. He is respectful to all his employees even though he is the man in charge and everyone knows it. He has no need to kill or harm people he says he loves. Señor Dmitri is nothing like his father."

"So why work for him?"

"I have already explained that it is out of duty to Señor Alexander. He cannot see the evil in his son and I cannot convince him it is there. He loves his son and I cannot betray what Señor Alexander loves."

"But if…"

"Enough. I have said too much. I will get you some food and blankets. There is a hose with fresh water next to the wall in the corner." His footsteps were heavy as they receded down a long, dark hall the presumably connected the tiger enclosure to the house.

Tony returned to his seat on the rocks to think things over. Tushkevich would probably be spending a lot of time at the hospital to ensure that Ziva didn't try to contact Moussad or…she'd call Moussad. If she were there for a few days…the prospect of an ally gave him the only positive reason for hoping her hospital stay would be longer rather than shorter.

* * *

Dmitri sat beside Ziva's hospital bed, watching the monitors flash with regular rhythms as they displayed her heart rate, blood pressure and oxygen level. The lack of beeping was disconcerting. Hospital monitors were supposed to beep.

He leaned forward, looking closely at her unconscious form. The only visible major injury was the one on her head, which was wrapped in white bandages. He'd been given to understand that over a dozen stitches had been needed to close the wound and that they suspected she had a concussion. Although she was not longer under general anesthetic, they were not sure if her continued unconsciousness was due to the painkillers or the concussion. Or, they were sure and had failed to communicate clearly.

He was clear on the fact that they had repaired the tear somewhere along her gastrointestinal tract that had been the source of her internal bleeding. His broken explanation of a boating accident hadn't been met with suspicion. The staff at this hospital was apparently used to inexperienced tourists hurting themselves in a wide variety of activities.

She'd also needed stitches on some of the small cuts on her arms, sustained in the wreck. Dmitri was glad that he could see only these small band-aids and not her original injury. The knife he'd used to inflict it, her own knife, was still in his jacket pocket. His main regret was that he had used it on her and not DiNozzo. The way they had been looking at each other, the way she'd hadn't even tried to escape once he'd been threatened, the way they'd stayed as close together as possible…all were almost as if they'd been trying to make Dmitri crazy.

It did not matter now. Even when Ziva was reunited with her American, it would not last long. For the time being, she was his wife. Dmitri reached out and took her hand. "I am sorry for this, my princess. You should never have left me. Now…I am afraid that your life will not be very pleasant for what is left of it."


	25. Chapter 25

Ziva concentrated hard to keep her breathing regular as she opened her eyes just enough to peer out between her lashes. She'd been awake for some time, pretending to be comatose while Dmitri looked on, holding her hand. She remembered that the last time she'd awoken in a situation like this, Tony had been the one holding her hand. And she had been legitimately unconscious. She did her best not to laugh when she realized how abnormal it was to have a story that began 'Last time I woke up in a strange hospital…'

Without turning her head, she looked toward Dmitri. He was still sitting in the chair beside her bed, but now he was snoring. She opened her eyes fully and took a few moments to look over the room thoroughly. There was a phone on the table next to her, but she couldn't risk using it with him right there. There was clock on the wall, but it was no help, as she wasn't sure of the time zone. The light coming in through the open blinds on the window made it look like it was sometime in the early morning. The last thing she remembered before waking in her hospital room was falling asleep in Tony's arms on a boat. It had been night then. Or it had been night before they'd boarded the boat.

She didn't focus on the hazy details. If she'd been out since only the previous night, that would mean that only hours had passed and it was not yet a cause for worry that no one had found her. Maybe Moussad had already found Tony and they were on their way to get her right now.

She knew she couldn't rely on pipe dreams. She closed her eyes, allowing her mind to relax until she could see the number she needed to call – 011 972 3…the number for her father's office followed, but she feared it wouldn't matter. The codes for Israel and Tel Aviv didn't change regardless of one's location in the world, but the international calling numbers did. She dialed 011 to call from the US, but she knew she wasn't there anymore. The last place she recalled being was the Azores? No, Corsica, but they had traveled somewhere by boat, so…where was she? She opened her eyes again and looked carefully around the room for some hint before she realized it didn't matter. They'd left Corsica on a boat and had to be somewhere in Europe. The code was the same throughout Europe – 00. Tony would probably appreciate that she'd finally found a place for the double 0 in her spy arsenal.

She sighed quietly, sneaking a glance at Dmitri to make sure he hadn't noticed. There was no change in his breathing and she settled down to wait him out. Tony was probably safe since Dmitri was with her. Unless Dmitri had already…

Her hand was halfway to the phone when she caught herself. She wouldn't be helping either of them if Dmitri caught her in the act of dialing and it would only wreck her own chances if Tony were…

She couldn't bring herself to make the thought real. Tony wasn't dead. He was probably locked in a room somewhere, tied to a chair and wondering why he hadn't gotten any news about her. She decided it was unfair for her to worry about him when he had seen her carted off to a hospital and hadn't been allowed to accompany her. No doubt he was worrying enough for both of them. She had another goal to accomplish right now.

She carefully moved her hand into the exact position it had occupied prior to her reckless grab for freedom. A few moments later, Dmitri was roused by his ringing cell phone. "Juan, what is it?"

* * *

Tony paced quickly back and forth. Juan had finally agreed to call Tushkevich for an update and instructions, but before he'd been able to tell them anything about Ziva, an overzealous nurse had chased him out of the ward. He'd said he would call back as soon as he came to an area where cell phones were allowed. That had been twenty minutes ago. Tony checked his watch as he made another circuit around the fake rocks, through the fake tunnel and past the fake waterfall. He felt like a caged tiger. Naturally.

Holding his watch to his ear, he confirmed that it was working. Two minutes was really the same as twenty minutes.

He sprinted across the concrete floor as the phone Juan was holding sprang to life. "Gimme!"

"Patience." Juan pressed a button and raised the phone to his ear. "Señor…sí…sí…sí, está aquí." He nodded as he passed the phone to Tony.

"DiNozzo…"

He interrupted, "How is she?"

Tushkevich laughed in response. "You are enjoying your accommodations, I trust? I am sure that Juan is wonderful company. Tell me, what is he doing right now?"

He glanced at Juan, leaning against the gate with his arms folded over his chest. "Tae-bo."

"I see." Tushkevich sighed. "Well, let us just say that it is fortunate that Ziva is already in the hospital."

Tony gaped and sank to his knees. "You can't be fucking serious. I swear to God when I track you down I am gonna rip your lousy…"

"Calm down, DiNozzo. Answer my question and your beloved will remain happily unharmed."

"Juan? He's standing at the gate, watching me." Sensing this wasn't enough, Tony added, "He doesn't have his gun out because he gave me a demonstration of his accuracy when we arrived and I'm sure I'd be dead or incapacitated before I could call anyone for help. Now will you tell me how Ziva is?"

"Unconscious. The doctors tell me that they expect her to wake in a few hours. She will be opting to leave the hospital as soon as she is awake, so perhaps you will be reunited soon."

"What about her other injuries? The internal bleeding?"

"Treated. I will give her your best when she wakes. If you hand the phone back to Juan right now, she will not wake with any broken fingers."

Tony was quick to comply. He didn't listen as Juan gave some more 'yes' answers. Ziva had been unconscious for over ten hours now. If she woke up, she'd probably be tired. She'd slept a lot after she'd come out of her coma in Israel. Was this a coma yet? He wished he could just turn to Ducky or Adi or anybody and have things explained to him. Regardless of medical expertise, Tony knew it was a bad idea for Ziva to leave the hospital right after she woke up. Much as he wanted to see her, he wanted to see her healthy, or at least well on her way to being healthy.

He looked up and saw that Juan was hanging his arms over the bars, leaning into the enclosure. "Don't worry. He is going to keep you alive as a bargaining chip to keep his señora under control. Would you like some breakfast?"

* * *

Hannah rushed down the hall on her way back from the restroom, waving to the receptionists of the other administrators. She had spent the night in the office, catching catnaps at her desk, while the Director stormed around demanding intelligence that couldn't be found because it didn't exist. She pushed open the heavy door of Director David's office just as he poked his head into the antechamber. "Hannah, is there any more coffee?"

She passed between the rows of chairs in the reception area. "I'll make some just as soon as I…" She reached over her desk to pick up the phone. "Shalom…just a moment, please." She pressed hold and turned to the Director. "Shepard again, from somewhere over the Atlantic."

He sighed heavily. "Tell her…"

"The usual?"

"If that means I'll be getting coffee sooner, then yes."

Hannah nodded and reconnected the call. "I'm sorry, Director Shepard, but he's in a meeting and I really can't interrupt."

"I'm sure. Is there any news about Ziva and Tony?" Shepard's sarcasm was overshadowed by her obvious concern.

Hannah could sympathize. Director David had told her to go home late the previous night, but she'd found it hard to leave with him so distressed over his missing daughter. Hannah clucked her tongue. It was a shame that all this had to happen, especially now that they were mending their relationship and Ziva was apparently on the cusp of getting married. She hoped her encouraging smile was transmitted to Shepard as she replied, "I'm afraid we haven't heard anything yet, but we will let you know as soon as there are any developments. Hopefully good ones."

"Okay." Shepard sounded resigned. "Thank you, Hannah. Shalom."

"Shalom, Director Shepard." Hannah hung up and walked into the Director David's office. The coffee pot stood on the bar next to the bottles he seemed to prefer; perhaps that was why he'd never learned to operate it. She worked quickly, saying, "She's going to keep calling until we tell her something. She's just concerned, you know."

He sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "And I am not concerned?"

"I didn't say that, sir."

"If we had news, I would talk to Shepard, but as we do not, I see no point in receiving more meaningless encouraging words."

The coffee machine began to make bubbling noises and Hannah turned. "Deputy Director Asher didn't deserve the tongue lashing."

"And I don't deserve to be patronized. I am perfectly justified in my anger in this situation. A known, dangerous terrorist escaped under our very eyes and now he…he could begin selling weapons to our enemies again! And to add insult to potential injury, he has kidnapped a Moussad officer and an American agent."

"And the fact that they happen to be your daughter and the man who wants to marry her…that makes no difference to you?"

"You are treading a dangerous line, Hannah."

She was saved the trouble of replying by the ringing telephone. Rather than going back to her own desk, she picked up the receiver on the Director's desk. "Shalom…"

"Hannah, have the call traced."

The line went dead before she could say, "Ziva?"

Director David snatched the phone. "Ziva? Ziva, are you there?" He held the phone away from his ear. "What did she say?"

"She just said 'Hannah, have the call traced,' but the line went dead before I could do anything."

The Director began pacing. "She must be in danger of being observed and wanted to make the call as short as possible."

"But I didn't have time to request the trace…"

"Don't be ridiculous. Ziva knows that all incoming calls to this office are logged." He pressed a few buttons on his phone.

A voice carried over the speaker. "Yes?"

"This is Director David. Where did the call just received in my office originate?"

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." The sound of clicking keys carried over the open line. "The last call came from…Italy…Elba…Hospital of Saint Apollonia…room 307. Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No. Thank you." He finished writing and disconnected the call. "Find Asher. I want the closest team we have at that hospital in less than an hour."

* * *

Ziva didn't react as the nurse shifted the needle in her arm as blood was being drawn. The nurse left without a word. A few minutes later, she felt Dmitri grasp her hand. "Are you going to wake up soon, my princess? Because I have promised your American that I will bring you to see him when you wake."

She controlled her breathing, but her heart rate was not strictly under her control. She could feel Dmitri hovering over her face. "Can you hear me, Ziva?" Although it was a near-impossible task, she didn't react when he squeezed her thigh. "Hm. You are being very difficult. What if I called Juan and ordered him to put a bullet between DiNozzo's eyes? Your heart is giving you away, Ziva. I will have him dead within the next five minutes if you do not open your eyes."

He was baiting her, making sure she hadn't done anything while he'd been out of the room. She kept her eyes closed and her breathing regular, willing her heart to slow. He gave her thigh another squeeze, harder this time, but his presence became less immediate as he sank into his seat. "I do hope you wake soon. Hamas is expecting to have the Moussad's Director's daughter as a hostage by the end of this week. I have not yet decided if I will tell them your little secret." She held her breath as he continued, "I knew you could be cold-blooded, but to murder your own brother…"

She couldn't control it anymore. Her eyes shot open. "Who told you?"

Dmitri was unsurprised by her sudden improvement. "You did. When you are drunk you talk in your sleep." He grinned. "Shall we check out of the hospital? I would hate for whomever you called while I was out to find us in such an indefensible position." He pressed the call button on the side of the bed. "I believe you know the consequences of misbehavior?"

She nodded, thinking that nodding was a luxury she wouldn't have in a few days if Moussad didn't find them. A wave of nausea swept over her as she thought of her father opening a grisly Overnight Express box on his cluttered mahogany desk.


	26. Chapter 26

Ziva struggled to keep her hand steady as she signed her release papers in spite of the fervent recommendations of the hospital staff. She smiled, assured them she was quite well and walked out under her own power with the minor aid of Dmitri's Walther P99 pressing into her back. Her leg was on fire, but she walked without a limp. Her stomach was twisted into knots, but she did not cringe. Her head was heavy, but she held it high.

It was for Tony.

Even for him, she could only be so strong. The entire charade collapsed as she crumpled into the back seat of a waiting car. Dmitri slipped in next to her and nodded to Juan in the driver's seat. "Very well done, my princess. Had I know how eager you are to see your American, I would have found a place where I could keep you apart longer. C'est la vie." He laughed and wrapped an arm around her. She didn't have the energy to push it off.

She barely had the energy to think. Her body cried out in protest with each bump in the road. Fortunately, the drive to the marina was not long. Dmitri prevented her from grasping the door handle when they stopped at the end of a long pier. "I only ask that you forget all your English while I am conversing."

He rolled down the window and waved his hand. A fat man in a red Hawaiian shirt bustled to the window. "Hey, Greg! I was beginnin' to think you weren't gonna show!"

"Yes, I am quite sorry for my tardiness. It took longer than we thought for my wife to be discharged."

The fat man leaned into the window. "Hey, pretty lady. Lookin' forward to a fantastic voyage?"

Rather than correcting him about the nature of _Fantastic Voyage_, which she had watched with Tony at some point, she smiled and inclined her head. If they were moving to another island, her call to Moussad was temporarily worthless. She forced the smile to stay plastered on her face. Dmitri slipped an arm around her, allowing his hand to encircle the back of her neck. "I am afraid my wife does not speak English. She makes up for it in other ways though."

"Heh. I'll bet. She's lookin' pretty hot even with the bandage."

"Yes, the bandage. I am afraid that she will not be able to accompany us and I do not wish to leave her alone while she is ailing. However, I do feel bad about inviting you out on my boat only to have to retract the invitation so abruptly."

"Oh. I'd say another day then, but I'm gonna be gone in two days. I guess the wife and I can find somethin' to do instead." His feet scuffling the ground were audible inside the car. "It was a real nice offer, Greg."

"No, no. We have spent some time conversing and I believe you to be an honest man. I believe you told me you have experience piloting a boat?"

"Holy…are you shittin' me?"

"Not at all. Go out for the day and enjoy yourselves." Dmitri handed a set of keys through the window. "My driver will return for the keys at around six."

"Oh, man. You're a hell of a guy. The missus and I will have your boat back and in perfect condition at six on the dot. Oh, this kinda stuff never happens to me!"

"Yes, well…have a good time."

Ten minutes of obese toadying later, they drove away from the marina. Ziva was finding it difficult to maintain her focus, but couldn't resist a barb. "You couldn't find a less obvious mark?"

"Yes, the fat man was an exceedingly easy target. Tom Mangum and his wife will be quite shocked when boarded by armed officers, I think. The authorities will be even more surprised when they find out he got the boat from Grigory Selfin. I know the phrase is 'red herring,' but I believe he qualifies as a red whale."

He laughed, but something he had said made Ziva reconsider the fat man. "Tom Mangum? Don't you find it demeaning to exploit such unassuming victims? You used to prefer a challenge."

"And you used to beg me to fuck you again and again. Let us not rehash the past."

They turned away from each other, riding in silence. She tried to pay attention to the route they followed, but the pain made it nearly impossible. It was all going to be over soon, she reminded herself. At some point during the drive, Dmitri removed one of the syringes they had given her at the hospital. She groped weakly for the pain medication. "Please…"

"My poor princess." He ripped open a small pouch and the smell of alcohol filled the car. He rubbed a cold, wet patch on her arm and injected her. She started to feel better almost immediately and her head dropped onto his shoulder. She wasn't sure if he kissed her forehead as she slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Tony paced back and forth along the wall of the tiger enclosure, approaching the gate and retreating from it. Approaching and retreating. Juan had left to pick up Ziva and Tushkevich at the hospital over an hour ago. There was no way it would take that long for the roundtrip. He comforted himself with the thought that Juan had left early to make sure he got there in time. Or, even better, that Moussad or NCIS or Interpol or the Boy Scouts had rescued Ziva at the hospital and taken down Tushkevich in the process.

The sound of scraping metal in the hall drew him back to the gate. Juan was dragging a cot toward it. "She's here? Is she here? Is she okay?"

Juan shook his head faintly and made a gesture for Tony to move back as he removed the keys to the gate from his pocket. "Away."

"I believe he wants you to back up, Agent DiNozzo." Tushkevich stood behind Juan, holding an unconscious Ziva in his arms. "I suggest you do it, unless…"

Tony held up his hands, backing toward the far wall. "Whatever you say. Don't hurt her."

While Juan set up the cot in the corner, Tony carefully watched Ziva as Tushkevich gently rocked her back and forth. "She's still unconscious?"

"Painkillers. She will be awake shortly." He entered the enclosure and carried her to the cot, setting her down carefully. "When she does wake, be sure she does not move around too much. She is to rest until I deliver her to Hamas."

Tony fought the urge to charge Tushkevich and confined himself to angry shouting. "You can't do that! They'll kill her!"

"Perhaps. Do you think Director David would pay a ransom? Even if he would, Israel would never allow it. Politics are not my place, though." He followed Juan out and clanged the gate closed, tugging it to make sure it was locked.

Tony sprinted to the cot, checking Ziva over. Her pulse and respiration were steady and she didn't feel hot to the touch as she had the last time he'd seen her. She had numerous bandages on her arms and a large one on her head concealing stitches. He lifted her shirt and saw a bandage covering what he assumed was the surgical site. He decided to forget about her leg until she woke up. He leaned closed to her face, whispering, "I know it's probably selfish, because you should still be in the hospital, but I'm glad you're here. You had me worried, babe. You wake up when you feel up to it, okay?"

"Not to interrupt your happy reunion, but I need your advice on a small matter, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony turned to see that Tushkevich was still standing at the gate. "What?" he spat, remaining close to Ziva.

"Hm. I am afraid that turning Ziva over to Hamas is non-negotiable, but there is some information that I may or may not share with them. Tell me, did you know Ari Haswari?"

"Yeah, but he's a worthless bargaining chip. Hamas knew Ari was Director David's son, so it's not like they're too dumb to figure out he was also Ziva's half-brother."

"I am more interested in how you think they will feel when they discover that Ziva was the one who killed him."

Tony momentarily flashed back to the Israeli Embassy in Paris – Abraham thanking Gibbs for doing what he could never order Ziva to do. And Gibbs… Shaking his head, Tony stood and walked to the gate to look Tushkevich in the eye. "Gibbs shot Ari," he stated firmly.

"I am afraid he did not. You did not know?" Tushkevich's incredulous grin was sickening. He continued gleefully, "Trust is such a valuable commodity in relationships, Agent DiNozzo. I trust you and Ziva will have quite a bit to discuss when she wakes." He walked away laughing.

Tony moved slowly back to Ziva's bedside, sinking to the floor beside it. Ari had killed Kate, but for Ziva to have killed Ari? Something told him it was true, no matter how awful it sounded. He covered her hand with his own, noticing that the rings had disappeared. "This self-torture has got to stop, Ziva." He reached into his pocket and settled his back against the wall. The diamond glittered in the bright light. "I don't even wanna think about the talk we have to have before you get this." He looked at her and made a quick correction, "Before I ask you if you want it, I mean."


	27. Chapter 27

Ziva opened her eyes and found she was lying on a cot in a brightly lit room. The wall on one side of her was painted in swaths of various green shades. She could hear running water somewhere close. She turned her head to the other side and saw that Tony sat beside the cot, muttering to himself as he looked at something in his hand. She watched him for a few moments, but his voice was too low to hear. "Tony?"

"Hey there." He slipped his hand into his pocket and rose to his knees, leaning on the cot. "How do you feel?"

With no hesitation, she replied honestly, "Terrible. And I need a bathroom."

"Yeah, that would be the first of many disadvantages to being kept in a tiger cage." He helped her into a sitting position, taking a seat beside her so she had something to lean against for support.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "I don't have the energy to hit you at the moment, so just explain."

"Right. I forgot you missed the orientation spiel. So once upon a time there was this guy and he had this crazy dream that…"

She shut her eyes tightly in an attempt to force the pain out of her head. "Just tell me what's going on."

"Okay, long-winded speech short, we're in an enclosure built for tigers that never got here. We're on a pretty good streak with zoo animals, so I thought maybe you could work your magic on the door over there and spring us."

She rubbed the unbandaged side of her head with the tips of her fingers. "Fine, but that doesn't solve the more immediate problem."

"I'm all out of drugs and I put the bucket in the little cave."

She blinked. Given the choice, she would have gladly taken the drugs, but Dmitri had all of her painkillers and antibiotics. There was only one need she could satisfy at the moment. "How am I supposed to pee in a bucket?"

"Squat?"

"Brilliant," she muttered. She wasn't confident that she would be able to walk on her injured leg at this point, much less squat. "How long was I out?"

"You've been doing a great Sleeping Beauty impression for the last two hours, or so." He slipped his arm around her waist and kissed the side of her neck. "But no need to try and avoid the bucket. I'll help you."

"No."

"There's no need to be shy," he said cheerily. "I've seen all there is to see, and probably a lot closer than I'm about to."

She leaned heavily against him as they stood and made their first steps toward the cave that looked more like an open archway. "Remember when you were in the hospital and you got angry when I offered to give you a sponge bath?"

"That was totally different."

"How? You didn't want me thinking that you were incapable of taking care of yourself. This is the same."

"No it isn't. I didn't want you helping me because the shower is…well, for lack of a better phrase, a sex place. Fortunately, you found an inspired way to work around ruining that. Now, the toilet, on the other hand…what's there to ruin, really?" They had arrived at the bucket. "Right, so, bucket, paper's on the ledge. If you really don't want my help, I'll just wait on the other side of…"

Her leg felt like it was about to collapse under her weight. "You know what? I don't care. Just close your eyes and hold my arm."

His hand was wedged into her armpit, supporting her, in a matter of moments. "No problem. Y'know, just because this seems like it isn't romantic, I think it could still fall into the knight in shining armor school of gestures, which, when you think about it…"

"Don't think about it. Don't speak." She bent her knees slowly, ignoring the pulsing ache in her quadriceps. She remembered the last time she'd needed such an exceptional effort to relieve herself, she'd been able to enlist a nurse in Tel Aviv while Tony had waited anxiously behind a closed door. She'd teased him about his worry when she'd exited the bathroom and he'd made a joke that earned a harsh glance from the nurse. Now, his scrunched up face was very comical, but Ziva was too uncomfortable to laugh, even with the pressure in her lower abdomen removed. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the waist of her pants. "Just give me a second…"

"Do you have your pants up?"

"Almost."

He opened his eyes and looked down. "Oh, just hold on…"

"You can't possibly be thinking…"

"Not at the moment." The familiar twinkle returned to his eye for an instant. "Hey, you brought it up."

"You realize that they're probably watching us."

"Perverts, watching you use the bucket. I just want to see your thigh."

"Oh." She held onto her pants as he helped her to a ledge.

He was very careful as he looked under the bandage. "No stitches?"

"If they stitch a deep puncture any infections present can't drain."

"You say that like you have experience." She looked away from his searching gaze and he replaced the gauze he had moved. "And no panties?"

"We were in a bit of a rush to leaved the hospital. I'm not wearing a bra either."

He gave her a moment to collect herself as they stood. "I noticed that when I looked up your shirt while you were unconscious." At her inquiring glare, he rapidly continued, "That sounded less disturbing in my head. What I meant was I was checking over your wounds while you were unconscious and I wanted to see if you'd really gotten surgery like Scumball said you had."

Based solely on how she felt, she had only the assurances of the hospital staff to confirm that they'd fixed something in her abdominal cavity. For all she knew, she was missing some internal organs. She decided that particular bit of paranoia wouldn't be helpful to share. "Just help me back to the cot."

"Sure." He gripped her around her waist. "Sorry I can't just carry you."

"Don't worry about it." She didn't hear his reply, focusing all her energy on the short walk.

When they reached the cot, he prevented her from sinking onto it too quickly. "Easy. Just take a break and we'll get to the lock when you're up to it."

"Right." She propped her head on her hand, allowing her elbow digging into her uninjured thigh to divert some of the nerve activity from that region of her body. She couldn't see the keyhole, but from the look of the door, it was probably a large key that activated clumsy pins. "What did the key look like?"

"Like the kind that would be used to unlock the village jail right after someone shouted, 'She's a witch!' What, I've been alone in a tiger cage for, like, well, a long time. Oh that reminds me…" He pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, "Juan hates Scumball's guts."

She snapped her jaw shut almost as fast as it had dropped open. "What?"

"What, you didn't hear me, or what, you want clarification?"

"The second one."

She rested her chin on his shoulder as he gave her a brief, whispered account of what had happened while she had been in the hospital. "Wow. Well, that makes my news a little less exciting." She tilted her head, bringing her lips to his ear. "Dmitri loaned the boat to Tom Mangum for the day."

Tony's eyes went wide. "Thomas Magnum? That is so cool."

"Focus, Tony. I said Mangum." She yawned, beginning to feel more fatigue than pain again. "No one's real name is Magnum. However, it is quite close."

"Want me to do my Gibbs impression?"

"I think I'd rather lie down for a little while."

"Don't you have a little locksmithing to do?"

"In a few minutes. If I can barely make it across the room, how are we going to escape from…" She allowed her body to drop, wincing as her nerves reacted. She was more careful as she pulled her legs up behind her. "I could pick the lock and you could get out of here without me."

"Oh, sure. I'll just follow that flying pig to the winter wonderland that hell has suddenly become."

"Be serious. You can move. I…" she dropped her voice to a low whisper, causing him to lean very close to her face. "I managed to call my father from the hospital. A Moussad team should be on the island soon if they aren't here already. If you can find them…"

"Why don't we just let them employ that Moussad training you're always bragging about to find us?"

She sighed. "Did Dmitri tell you what he has planned?"

"About Hamas?"

"He's only going to keep you alive to keep me under control. Once he realizes that I can't fight…if you can save yourself now, you have to take the chance."

His eyes were adamant. "I won't just leave you here."

"I know. You'll find help and come back for me."

"How about this – you rest for a little bit and we figure this out once you've got your strength back?"

"In what, a week?" She closed her eyes to block out his concerned gaze. It was becoming far too easy to admit weakness to him. No point stopping now. "Hold me?"

"Always." He kissed her softly and they settled into the mattress. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything."

"Did you kill Ari?"

"Anything but that."

"So…yes?"

"Yes."

"You had to?"

"Yes."

"You didn't have a choice?"

"Yes means yes, Tony," she grumbled.

"Sorry, I just…I'm sorry."

"It was dead Ari or dead Gibbs. Which would you prefer?"

"It's not about who lived. It's…I'm sorry you had to do it. Did Gibbs really just let you?"

She turned away from Tony's face. "He didn't know when he asked me to back him up. And before you ask, there's no way he should have guessed."

"Right. Does Abraham know?"

"No."

"Would he believe Hamas if they told him?"

"It doesn't matter. They would kill me no matter what. If I live, I'm going to have to tell my father."

"It isn't an if. We're both going to live. Happily ever after, remember?"

She turned her head, facing him again. "You really do watch too many movies."


	28. Chapter 28

"It's for you, sir."

Abraham David grabbed the phone from the hand of one of the subordinates accompanying on his trip. "Shocking that a call to my private plane would be for me." Turning his attention to the telephone, he rotated his chair toward the window. "Yes?"

"Shalom, sir."

"Officer Geller. How are Officer David and Agent DiNozzo?"

"Well, we can't be sure at this point, sir."

David took a deep breath, digging his fingers into the armrest of the plush leather seat. "You. Don't. _Know_?"

"I'm sorry, sir. When we arrived at the hospital Officer David was already gone. The records indicate that she checked herself out against medical advice over an hour before we got there. Several of the staff suspect the man with her pressured her into it. They identified him as Tushkevich. Agent DiNozzo was never seen at the hospital."

He fought to keep himself calm. Ziva was seriously injured, to the point where Tushkevich had exposed himself to bring her to a hospital. Tony was unaccounted for, possibly dead. The only thing worse than the current situation would be finding their bodies. And losing Tushkevich, he reminded himself. He had to disregard his personal connections as rigorously as possible. He didn't shout, instead dropping his voice to an unnaturally low register. "Is this the only reason you have called, Geller? To inform me of your failure?"

"No, sir. MI6 got a tip from one of its security R&D engineers who happened to be on vacation on Elba. He recognized Tushkevich in the hospital and called it in because he remembered the face from a most wanted list. We bumped into a team of SIS operatives at the marina."

"We're coordinating with the British?" David cringed. It was now officially worse in a way he hadn't anticipated. How many governments were going to find out about Moussad's error? It was bad enough to have failed, but the debacle only deepened as more agencies learned of it. He was going to take a serious hit politically if this wasn't resolved with all due haste. "Fine. What are you doing?"

"The boat is locked down and the tipster gave us the information on the car. We've got a chopper in the air sweeping the island and we'll go from there."

"That's _all_?"

"The…Mangum, the engineer, also said that Tushkevich mentioned sailing from Corsica. The British are already there. They found a suspicious, unreported car accident with one fatality, but we don't have details on it yet. They're also looking for the missing jet."

"Fine, Geller. Inform me the moment you've apprehended Tushkevich."

"Sir…"

"What?"

"I thought you'd want to know that Mangum saw Officer David."

David smoothed his thinning hair and adjusted his tie in a futile attempt to brace himself gracefully in front of the other men on the plane. "And?"

"In spite of her injuries, she seemed alert but not active. The records we took from the hospital indicate multiple injuries, including a moderate concussion, stab wound and internal injuries that required surgery."

"Is this somehow relevant to your operation?"

"No, sir. I just thought you'd want to…"

"Find them, Geller." He ended the call without ceremony, turning his seat back toward the cabin. "You…bring me a drink." The alcohol did little to alleviate the concern and fear that existed nowhere outside of his stomach.

* * *

Jenny felt the turbulence acutely as she sat on the closed lid of the toilet in the jet's small lavatory cubicle. At this point, she was completely sure it wasn't turbulence; she had been partaking liberally of the Scotch since the wait on the tarmac had stretched from minutes to hours and hadn't slowed as the aircraft had picked up speed. By the time she'd reached her preordained limit, she had been just inebriated enough to convince herself that one more wouldn't hurt. It had been downhill from there. She suspected that she'd had about the same amount to drink as Gibbs, but she was feeling the effects more.

The airplane lurched and her hand shot out, steadying her against the door. She allowed her head to drop, feeling like she owed her chest a debt of gratitude as it provided a block to prevent her head from making the twirling circle it wanted to. She gave the wave of nausea a moment to pass. She was strong enough to get through this little hiccough. A few cups of coffee and the NCIS Director would _not_ be making a fool of herself as she deplaned in Rota.

She tried to think about Tony and Ziva, but that just made her feel sick again. They could be dead. Or Tushkevich could be torturing them with the intention of killing them. Jenny took a few deep breaths. Watching Ziva with Tushkevich when she hadn't been in danger from the man had been bad enough; this was almost unbearable.

Opening her eyes, she kept her head down as she buttoned her blazer. "Fat absorbs alcohol. You should be doing more."

A knock and a concerned voice came through the door, "Who are you talking to, Director?"

"They don't concern you. Don't worry about it, McGee." She stood and prepared to face her agents with head held high, but a sudden heave in her stomach sent her pitching forward with barely enough time to lift the seat cover. When she had nothing left, she crouched back on her heels. "I feel much better now."

When no one replied, she stood cautiously. She splashed water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror. "No more of that."

Her reflection blinked and nodded. Satisfied, she exited the lavatory to find her two agents sitting near the front of the cabin, the maximum distance from the bathroom. When she approached, Gibbs turned to McGee. "Still need to use the head?"

"Um, oh. Yes. I do need to, um, use the head." He nodded to Jenny as he passed. "Excuse me."

She sank into the seat across from Gibbs just as the door in the back of the cabin closed with soft thud. He smiled, his face slightly flushed. "The guys in Spain will certainly be interested to hear about how the Director had an unexpected bout with airsickness during the flight."

"Airsickness?" She rubbed her temples. "It feels more like a concussion."

"Yeah, I wouldn't believe airsickness either. Concussions can cause vomiting, but you gotta have a bump to go with it and I doubt you want me to help you with that. Personally, I think it must have been the sushi we grabbed on the way to the airport before we left. I told you we should have just gotten burgers, but you insisted…"

Jenny suddenly returned his smile. "Thank you, Jethro."

"Relax. I'm worried too, Jen. In all confidence, I may have overdone it a bit, just not as obviously as you."

"Did you just admit to being drunk?"

"Hey, I'm not the one who needs a cover story about raw fish." The lavatory door opened and Gibbs snapped his head around. "You done already, McGee?"

The younger man looked panicked for a moment before answering. "Um, no. I thought I was, but I suddenly think…" He trailed off as he stepped back into the bathroom.

Gibbs gave a low chuckle. "Wanna see how long we can pull that on him?"

In spite of the pain in her head, Jenny laughed with him. "I'd forgotten what a giddy drunk you can be."

"Forget it again after this flight." He groaned. "We should probably get a pot of coffee on."

"Please."

* * *

McGee waited impatiently in the bathroom, listening for some indication that it would be all right to emerge. He suspected that both Gibbs and the Director were having some trouble handling their alcohol, which would make an amusing story to tell Tony and Ziva when he saw them.

Tony and Ziva. They were going to be fine. He had no idea what he was going to do with Tommy and Lisa if he kept looking to their real-life counterparts for inspiration. A few misadventures were acceptable, but the constant international intrigue was the kind of thing that would make readers wince. He muttered to himself, "And they wonder why they make good templates. You can't make this stuff up."

Somewhere far away, he heard Tony counter, "_You_ can't."

"Great. Now I'm having auditory hallucinations." He listened carefully for another reply, wishing fervently that he could open the door and see Tony grinning at him, waiting to tease him about talking to himself in the bathroom and possibly making some remarks the sexual harassment counselor would define as 'yellow light.'

He sighed heavily and depressed the handle on the door. The small bathroom had an unpleasant smell after the Director's episode, but he wasn't sure it would be much pleasanter to be in the cabin. He could always grab another Diet Coke, sit in the back and pretend to read. Gibbs couldn't order him to stay in the lavatory for the rest of the flight. Well, he could, but…McGee hoped he wouldn't have to assert his self-confidence if it came to that. He yanked the door open and stepped out.

Gibbs glanced over his shoulder from the bar, where he was waiting for the coffee to percolate. "We were about to check on you, McGee. Didn't fall in, did you?"

At the Director's giggle, McGee abruptly amended his plan. "No. I'm fine. I'm a little tired though, so I'm just going to sit in back here and catch some sleep."

"Can't guarantee there'll be coffee left for you."

He bit back a retort about coffee being available in Spain and nodded. Inserting his earbuds, he selected some relaxing music on his iPod and closed his eyes. Maybe if an arms dealer…a Ukrainian arms dealer with a prior connection to Lisa…kidnapped Tommy somewhere in Virginia and Tibbs and Lisa had to find him in a container in a shipyard while McGregor and Amy analyzed the video and stumbled on a body parts smuggling ring in addition to leading their colleagues to Tommy. That could work…


	29. Chapter 29

Tony shifted on the narrow cot so he could check his watch. Ziva had been dozing fitfully for the past forty minutes. It would have to be enough. "Okay, enough beauty sleep. Wake up."

She responded with a grunting snore.

He spoke directly into her ear, "Zeeeeeee-vah. It's spring. Your little furry bear wants you to join him out of hibernation." He sincerely hoped that she really was asleep, because he was filled with deep embarrassment. Hibernating bears? It was a slippery slope from stupid analogies to sing-songing everything to ending phone conversations with, 'You hang up first…no, you…okay, we'll both hang up…you didn't hang up either!'

He shuddered. Ziva wasn't like that and he certainly wasn't like that. He needed to stop settling for romantic comedies when there was nothing else on. He tried waking her again, this time with less mush. "Ziva. Wake up. Ziva…"

She grunted again and tried to roll away from him, but her eyes suddenly shot open as she gasped. He didn't need a translation of the Hebrew curse she muttered.

"Hey, hey. You all right?" He tried to run his hands over her to make sure nothing new was wrong, but his left arm was pinned under her body and his right was hampered by his cast and sling.

She carefully pushed herself into a sitting position. "Mmnngh. I moved wrong." Her aggravated expression changed as he sat up and looked into her eyes. "I'm fine. Really."

"I thought I was supposed to be reassuring you right now."

"I'm not the one who looks like he's about to cry."

He rubbed his eyes involuntarily. "I just woke up, too, y'know."

"Sure. Maybe you should go stick your head under the waterfall to clear the spider webs then."

"Cobwebs," he corrected, standing and stretching.

"It's the same thing."

He grinned as he turned and leaned over her. "I thought you weren't gonna do this anymore now that I know you're faking."

"I'm not faking," she said, sounding offended. "A cobweb is a spider web and I'll prove it the second I find a dictionary."

"Fine. Whatever." Splashing some water on his face didn't sound like such a bad idea, now that he thought about it. "Right, so we should get started on our great escape. You do the lock and I'll hum the theme music."

"Tony…" Her tone drew him back to her side. "I'm not going anywhere."

He shook his head. "Look, I don't think we can just count on Moussad to find us. We've gotta do something to help ourselves here."

"I didn't say you had to stay." She stared at the floor.

"Huh. I seem to remember having this conversation already." When he squeezed her hand, she didn't squeeze back. "I'll help you."

"I don't want your help."

"You don't have to be BatGirl all the time, Ziva. It's okay. I won't tell anyone."

"It's not…" she exhaled loudly with exasperation. "Just get me to the door, I'll unlock it and you can go."

"I don't care how stubborn you plan to be." He stood, crossing his arms over his chest as best he could with one in a sling. "We're in this together and I'm not going anywhere without you."

Her eyes stayed down, focused on her wounded thigh. "I don't know why we're even together."

"Because the only house Scumball could find with two tiger cages didn't have enough bathrooms?"

"I wasn't referring to our current situation." Her voice was sharp and icy.

He looked at her gravely, but she continued to stare at her leg, picking at the bandage through her pants. "We're not playing this game right now. I'm not leaving you here just because you're threatening me with heavy relationship conversation. We're together because we love each other, end of story."

"No." She looked up for only an instant, staring through him with a glint in her eyes that frightened him. "We're only together because I got shot and you felt bad about it. Let's face it, Tony. We've only stayed together due to an unlikely streak of serious injuries. You've convinced yourself that you love me because you'd feel guilty if you left and…"

He interrupted, "That isn't what…"

She cut him off in return, "Let me finish. This whole thing is beyond futile and it isn't going to work once we're both healed. Seriously, living together? We'd kill each other within five minutes. And on the off chance that I did get hurt again, you'd feel guilty if you left me while I'm hurt and I'd feel like I owe you for sticking by me. Guilt and debt don't equal a relationship."

"No, love and…and…" he stammered, unsure of where to go. He'd never had a relationship like this one, but not for the reasons she was coldly stating. He knew he couldn't get her off this pointless argument if he couldn't articulate a coherent reply.

Why was she even saying these things? It was like some weird movie and Ziva's evil twin had…

He relaxed slightly. "I get it. Nice try."

She was rubbing her thigh now, watching the movement of her hand carefully. "What?"

He cringed in mock-terror. "Oh, Ziva doesn't really love me! I'm emotionally distraught so I should go and leave her here!" He burst into joyful laughter as he sat next to her. "Oh, you think you're soooooo clever. Using the fact that you're injured to cover up the fact that you've been looking down and to the left this whole time!"

She met his gaze for the first time since the conversation had started and, although she was smiling slightly, he was alarmed by how tired she looked. "I love you, Tony and I can't let you die here. I won't. Please…just, make an effort. For me."

"With you, Ziva." He kissed her deeply, glad the doubt was mostly gone. Mostly? "You, uh, you didn't really mean…"

The look she gave him made him feel infinitely better and only slightly ridiculous for even asking. "I've been pretending to sleep for a half-hour while I came up with that stuff. Usually I don't have that problem coming up with convincing lies."

He gently stroked her hair. "Well, you've got a head injury."

"No, it's your fault."

"What?"

"It's a compliment." She leaned close, her lips moving against his as she said, "I'm sorry I said those things."

"You did have me scared for a second." He kept his hand on her shoulder to stop himself from reaching into his pocket. "Then I remembered that we watched _Moulin Rouge_ just a few nights ago, Mademoiselle Satine. Alas, if you're in search of a penniless writer…"

"Leave McGee alone," she interrupted, drawing back. "He's doing very well even if he is kind of plagiarizing our lives."

Tony grinned. "Well, this story isn't going anywhere unless Moussad Officer Lisa gets off her well-toned ass and picks that lock."

"I've told you not to call me that."

He slipped his arm around her as he helped her stand. As they made their way slowly to the door, he realized how much effort it was going to take for them to get anywhere once they got out of the tiger enclosure.

When they got to the gate, Ziva slipped her arms between the bars. "I need you to keep me steady."

"No problem." He moved behind her, softly pinning her between his body and the door. "Good?"

"Uh-huh. I need something long and stiff."

He nuzzled her neck, holding her tighter. "Give it a minute."

"The second that was out of my mouth I knew I shouldn't have said it. Do you have a pen?"

"Nope." He let her go for a moment as he reached into his sling. "Just a plastic fork."

"Right. Give me your arm."

She unclasped his watch and went to work. "You're planning to pick the lock with a plastic utensil and my watch?"

"Yes," she replied tersely, not turning to share the incredulous expressing he was sure she was wearing.

"Okay, I believe you." He buried his face in her hair again. "It's just that if you go all MacGyver on me I'm gonna start having all these weird mental images of you with the Richard Dean Anderson mullet and…"

"Are you done?"

He looked up in surprise as the gate opened. "Excellent. If they didn't leave the keys in the car, you think you can hotwire it if I give you a tube sock and wad of gum?"


	30. Chapter 30

Officer Ben Geller stood on the rear seat, holding tightly to the roll bar of the Jeep his team had obtained upon their arrival on Elba. Ever since his conversation with Director David, he had been moving like a man possessed. The plate number Mangum had given them had turned out to be a fake and they were left scrambling to search the entire island. They were really only on their way to their fourth possible target sighting, but Geller found it unacceptable. The helicopter crew had been surprisingly inept at spotting black Mercedes sedans. The two British men in the Jeep had taken it in good humor until Geller had explained the severity of the situation to them.

He tried not to think about the professional consequences if they failed as he nearly flew into the bushes as the driver, one of his own men, made a hairpin turn at high speed. "Watch it, Katz!"

"It's either go faster or slow down, sir. You have to pick one."

"You can't be careful while going fast?"

"You can't just sit down?" Burke, one of the two MI6 agents crammed in the back of the Jeep, asked good-naturedly. "We know we're on the right heading."

"Like the last three times?" Geller growled under his breath, dropping onto the seat. "I don't know what your boss is going to do if you don't call him with positive results in the next twenty minutes, but I'm fairly certain that mine will have my balls on a platter."

"Oh, buck up, man," Gilman, the other Englishman, interrupted. "The old man's just cheesed it's his daughter that's going to…hmm. Do speed up, then, won't you, Cat?"

"It's _Katz_," the driver replied, leaning out the side of the doorless vehicle as they made another death defying turn.

Geller gripped the roll bar over his head, wondering why his stomach had never felt this stressed breaking the sound barrier in his F-4 Phantom II. He thought he felt the Jeep balancing precariously on two wheels before righting itself on a stretch of straight road. He tilted his head back and shouted in Hebrew, "I should have stayed in the goddamn Air Force!"

"You and me both, brother!" Katz replied gleefully, gunning the engine.

Gilman turned to Burke and said, "My, but these Israelis certainly do enjoy speeding. Almost as bad as the Americans!"

Geller was saved the trouble of a reply by his other teammate, riding in the front passenger seat. He leaned forward to hear Tamir say, "They found Seir tied up and injured in the luggage compartment of the plane at a small airfield in Porto-Vecchio."

"Corsica?"

"Yeah. The dead guy in the car was Andrejs Tal, alias Aharon Tal, the pilot. Seir claims that Tal is the one who told Tushkevich that they were landing in Ponta Delgada and set up the ambush. He also claims he was unconscious during mist of the flight from the Azores to Corsica, so he didn't hear anything. Of course, with that intercept…"

"Enough." In the time after the initial break in communication, some incriminating communications from the Embassy had been discovered. One set had been uncovered on Officer Seir's terminal, a series of offers to turn Ziva David over to Tushkevich during the trip, potentially somewhere in Greece. The other set, as yet of unknown origin, had involved Tal and a plot to ensure he was the pilot for the flight. Geller knew the Director was already displeased the British were involved; if they found out Moussad had been betrayed separately by two assets, heads would roll. He blinked and looked at Tamir, who was waiting for instructions. "What else have they found?"

"Nothing to tell us where Tushkevich may have gone, although there was no luggage in the hold or the car, so they must have taken it with them."

"Why is that relevant?"

"I don't know. I'm just repeating what they just told me!"

"Right. Thanks, Tamir." Geller leaned back in the seat just in time to brace himself for a bone-jarring stop. "Is this it?" They were parked in front of a walled estate, with the only access appearing to be an imposing iron gate. He answered himself, "Yeah, I'd say we've got it."

* * *

Ziva squinted into the brightly lit driveway, more concerned with the fact that it was empty than the cloud of dust wafting past the gate. "The car is gone."

"Gone?" Tony shifted so he could look out the door while continuing to support most of her weight.

She had decided on the walk down the hallway that he deserved and was going to get a big reward for his human beast of burden performance just as soon as she was up to it, but the thought wasn't necessary at the moment. She craned her neck, trying to see around the corner of the house. "Did you see a garage?"

"I didn't exactly get the grand tour followed by the dessert bar when I arrived."

"A simple 'I don't know' would require less effort."

"I find the jokes are more personal. You're always bugging me about what I eat, so I thought you'd appreciate the…is there some reason you're not helping me out here?"

She had planted her feet and was leaning backward, preventing him from walking outside. "We should go through the house."

"Scumball is in the house. Why can't we just sneak along the wall?"

"Because if he or Juan sees us, we won't know until it's too late. We should at least be able to hear them moving around if we go through the house. Plus, there could be some weapons laying around."

"Whenever there's a chance to get a gun, you just can't help yourself, huh?"

She smiled in response to the gibe, since it was true and she was getting what she wanted. They moved as quickly as possible down the dark hall that connected the tiger enclosure to the house, arriving at a door. Tony tried the knob. "Unlocked. You'd think Tushkevich had never had to deal with the awesome skills of NCIS before."

"How so? You didn't do anything and I'm Moussad."

"Technically you're both and what do you mean I didn't do anything? I supported you while you picked the lock!"

"Yes, if the whole NCIS thing doesn't work out, maybe some woman can hire you to be her bra."

"My arm wasn't that high."

"Then perhaps it was someone else's hand?"

"I never said my _hand_ wasn't that high."

"Ssh." She pushed the door open slowly, praying the hinges were well-oiled. The door opened into a wide foyer with a curving staircase that led to the upper floor. There appeared to be at least three different access points to the space on the ground floor alone. She whispered, "We should get across the foyer as quickly as possible, through that doorway in front of the stairs."

"That's your plan? Walk across the foyer?"

"No. I'll limp. Ready?"

His arm tightened around her waist. "Yeah."

"Quietly…" They were halfway across the room when a terrific crash from somewhere outside halted them.

Tony dragged her a few steps toward the front door. "What the…?"

He wasn't the only interested party. From somewhere above them, Dmitri shouted. "Juan! Someone has…" He spotted them as he ran down the stairs. "How did you escape?"

Ziva did her best to drag both of them by taking a step with her good leg. "Tony?" He snapped to life, pushing her ahead of him as he broke into an awkward jog.

Dmitri began to fire as he rounded the end of the staircase, following them down an open hallway.

* * *

Geller clambered over the gate they had just ripped from its place in the wall, running toward the house with his teammates and the two MI6 men behind him. Halfway to the front door, he heard gunfire and hit the deck, taking cover behind a low brick wall. Realizing the shots were being fired from somewhere inside the house, he leaped the wall, shouting, "Tamir, Burke, around the back. I don't want this bastard escaping!"

He slammed through the front door without turning to see if the men had obeyed his orders. He had every confidence that Tamir had, and that would be enough. Following the sound of shouting down a hallway, he burst into what looked like a library combined with a poolroom. The details of the room were unimportant at the moment, however. He recognized Agent DiNozzo on the floor beside the pool table, although he hadn't been grimacing in pain in his ID photo. Dmitri Tushkevich stood on the other side of a small sofa. He was holding Officer David by her hair, tugging her head back as he pressed a gun to the side of her head.

She winked at Geller. He nodded curtly in response, knowing that the Director would be unlikely to accept the outcome if he accepted her offer and shot through her to get to the target.

Tushkevich pulled her against him, using her body to shield himself. "You are from Moussad?"

"Yes," Geller answered, keeping his weapon level and forcing himself not to look at Tamir, slipping into the room behind Tushkevich.

"Then I hope you are authorized to negotiate. Director David will not be pleased if you or the men behind me kill his daughter."


	31. Chapter 31

Tony carefully adjusted his position with a series of fake contortions that were supposed to look like they were being caused by pain. He was wounded, but not as badly as he was letting on. Just before turning into the room they were all in, he'd felt a sharp bite in his back that had caused him to falter just long enough for Ziva to figure out that something was wrong. He hadn't had a chance to reassure her before Tushkevich had stormed in, shoved him away and tried to drag her out the opposite door.

When the cavalry had arrived, Tony had stayed down, even though the stinging pain in his right shoulder felt only skin deep. He suspected it was probably the result of a ricochet rather than a direct hit if the bullet hadn't had the force to go anywhere after impacting his shoulder blade. No one would be expecting him to do anything.

Tushkevich certainly didn't seem very concerned with him. Scumball was busy threatening Ziva, who seemed more concerned with him, Tony, than the gun pressed to her head. Tony gave another twitch, pulling a leg under him as Tushkevich said, "This is the compromise – you will keep Agent DiNozzo. You will provide transportation off the island and I will take Ziva. I will guarantee her safety for a minimum of forty-eight hours if we are not followed."

"And what happens then?" the Moussad officer who hadn't yet given his name asked.

"That is up to Ziva. I have decided to give her a choice. If she remains with me, she must cut herself off from her family and friends, but both she and they will remain safe. If she does not accept that deal, she will die, though not by my hand. In addition, her father will learn of her secret shame."

"Dmitri, don't." Tony wasn't sure if she was giving and order or making a plea. He shifted, now almost in a crouch.

Ziva's head snapped back as Tushkevich yanked her hair. "If Agent DiNozzo does not survive, I should tell these men. Would you agree, my princess?"

"If I took your deal…went with you…how would you ever be able to trust me?"

"You are in no condition to make threats right now. I will make arrangements should anything happen to me. I believe your friend Adi's new daughter would be first." Tony could see Ziva blanch and tensed his legs as Tushkevich continued, "Yes, I will make it so my death will result in many, many more."

With his body finally in position, Tony launched himself over the sofa, colliding with Ziva and Tushkevich. The gun clattered across the floor as they came down in a heap. There was a whirl of movement and suddenly Tushkevich was on top of him, choking him and shouting in Russian. Tony tore at his attacker's hands. Just before lack of oxygen became a serious problem, three shots echoed through the room. The hands on Tony's throat loosened and Tushkevich collapsed on top of him. Tony wasn't sure that it was a corpse until he shoved the man off him with his good arm and saw three holes in his forehead.

The body convulsed as round after round pierced it, only becoming still when the clicking of an empty weapon replaced the crack of rapid fire. Tony twisted his head around in time to see Ziva drop the gun and sink into a chair. He took a few deep breaths, fully appreciating the feeling of unobstructed airways, before croaking, "Thanks."

When Ziva didn't answer, he rose to his knees. His head swam when he looked down and saw little bits of bloody flesh stuck to his jeans. He allowed himself a moment and stood slowly. She looked up at him when he was a step away from her. "How badly hurt are you?"

"Not too bad."

"Good. That's good. Good plan."

He sat in the chair next to her, taking one of her hands in his and finding it was trembling. "Ziva, are you…"

He was interrupted as one of the men who had come through the other door exclaimed, "What is that in your back, man?"

Tony winced as the Englishman touched the wound. "Watch it!"

The man held up a small silver knob with a bloodied tip. "I say, was he firing fixtures at you?"

"It must have hit me when one of his shots hit a wall or something and blew it off."

"Quite a shot, that. Nothing else wrong with you?"

"I'm fine." Tony wanted the Englishman to go away, but he perched on the arm of Tony's chair.

"And you, young lady, you are quite the shot. Perhaps a little overeager, but…"

The Moussad officer who had spoken with Tushkevich, and had since been kneeling by the corpse, interrupted, "Tamir, Burke, go help clear the rest of the house." As the two men left the room, he nodded to Tony and turned back to the laptop he had opened on the floor.

Tony was glad for the illusion of privacy. He leaned toward Ziva, who was now trembling all over. "Are you all right?"

"I just…" She met his eyes and he was surprised to find she looked frightened. "It wasn't him the last time. What if he somehow…I can't do this again," she admitted, swiping angrily at her eyes. "I shouldn't be like this. I should be holding it together, but I…and I thought you were…Tony…"

He carefully sat beside her on the edge of the wide chair and gathered her in a strong embrace. "I'm okay. We're both gonna be fine and Tushkevich is dead."

"Yeah." Her breath hitched in her throat, but she didn't cry. They waited in silence until the man beside the body finished his tasks, both on the computer and over the radio, and approached them.

"Officer David, Agent DiNozzo. I'm Officer Geller. We'll be transporting you to our staging area at a local airfield in a matter of minutes. From there, you'll be traveling to the US Naval Station at Rota. I believe they have a moderate hospital on grounds, so there shouldn't be any issues…"

Ziva replied with more vehemence than she had seemed capable of a moment before, "Don't bullshit me, Geller."

"I just scanned his fingerprints into the computer. It's Tushkevich. The body should be accompanying you for autopsy in Rota, so DNA will be run there in addition to the samples I've taken." Geller snapped his laptop closed and walked to the door. "If you two would wait here, I'll see about your transportation."

Tony hadn't been aware of how tense the room had been until Ziva relaxed under his touch. She was even smiling. "So it's over."

"Yeah."

"You really aren't seriously hurt?"

"You saw the…" he paused as he leaned down to pick up the small silver fixture. "I didn't even get shot; I got knobbed."

"And you're okay." She leaned toward him for a brief kiss. "My head feels terrible."

"I'll bet. How's your leg?"

"It hurts too. And my stomach." Her gaze drifted to Tushkevich's body, where it stopped. "I don't feel like a widow."

Tony bit back a jealous reply. It was over. She had only married the man in the first place because she'd been trying to accomplish a mission. Now Tushkevich was dead and Tony could be…he dropped from the seat and knelt on the floor. "Marry me."

She blinked in confusion. "What?"

"I know this isn't the best time, but, please, just tell me you'll…"

"I think I'm going to pass out."

"No, I have a ring and…" He barely got his arm out to catch her as she collapsed forward, unconscious. "We'll talk about it later, I guess."


	32. Chapter 32

McGee sat in front of his laptop, scrolling through the same data the NCIS Rota team had been combing over since the previous day. Neither they nor the Moussad team had made any headway in the search for clues about Tony and Ziva's disappearance. On their arrival in Spain, Gibbs and Shepard had received the intelligence that there was, in fact, no intelligence and hit their respective racks. McGee, having had the good sense to stop drinking before leaving DC and sleep during the flight, had stayed awake, waiting for some breakthrough from the team that had left hours ago for the Azores.

He sighed and looked at the open notebook that took the place of his typewriter when he traveled. Aside from a sentence fragment ('Tommy and Lisa were…'), the page was depressingly blank. He was gathering the energy to add another verb when a small window dinged open on his laptop screen. Glad for the distraction he read, 'How's the weather in Spain?'

"Abby…" he muttered, only a little annoyed with allowing himself to be traced so easily. He typed, 'I don't know if you're supposed to know where we are.'

'Chill, Timmy. If you were on a big secret mission you wouldn't be signed onto IM on our own network.'

He smiled in spite of himself. Ever since he'd told Abby how much he hated netspeak, she'd eliminated all abbreviations and shortcuts in favor of the actual sentences he preferred. He shook his head and checked his watch, which he had neglected to reset to local time. 'Why are you online? It's 5 AM on Sunday in DC.'

'Been busy. Gibbs and Madame Director around?'

'No. They're hungover.'

'No way.' A string of various giggling emoticons followed. 'Don't wake them. Just…' The tiny slamming door sounded very loud in the deserted, unfamiliar lounge of the base unit where the team was being housed. A second later, another window popped up, displaying a time delayed feed of Abby. "Hah! Bow to your computer goddess, McGee!"

"How did you…never mind."

"Well, don't pretend you're excited to see me with your case all nicely gift wrapped."

"Tony and Ziva?"

"No, fake Tony and Ziva. Your Moussad buddies were here and they explained the whole thing."

McGee hoped the video quality was poor enough to mask his worried expression. "What, exactly?"

"The car wreck, the bodies and…wait for it…the West case! Tah-dah!"

"West case?" He wracked his brain, trying to remember what she was talking about. He recalled a crime scene and a dead body, but everything else was…

"It was _yesterday_, Timmy. Remember? Seaman containing foreign semen found shot to death? Case closed. An old guy and a hot young guy from Moussad made statements." She waved a piece of paper in front of the camera. "Officer Eyal Dagan was out running late Friday night, well, technically, early Saturday morning because…I don't know, I think they're all just like that with the obsessive exercising…and saw Owen Schaeffer shoot Seaman West. He tried to help West, but it was too late and he ended up getting into a scuffle with Schaeffer, which Schaeffer obviously lost. Those Moussad folks should really come with a warning label, like cigarettes, because they're definitely detrimental to your health…"

"Hold on, you said Eyal Dagan?"

"Yes, I said hot young guy from Moussad. Wait, you know him? Or you've heard Ziva talk about him? Think she could get me his number?"

"He's married to her best friend and they just had a baby."

"So, no on the number. How come Ziva's introducing_ you_ to all her…Oh my God!" Although she was jumping up and down, the time-delay made it look like she was hanging in midair and spontaneously appearing on the ground again. "You know them because you met them during your super secret mission! You finally spill something about your visit to Israel and it has to be that?"

"Sorry." He shrugged. It was possible that she'd find out more once Tushkevich was captured or, more likely, killed, but for now, he could still enjoy the slight edge having a secret gave him.

"Yeah, anyway, when Undateable Dagan called the Israeli Embassy, Officer Bashan realized that Schaeffer was roughly the same body type as Tony and, instead of notifying the cops, they took the body and used it in the car wreck. They brought us photos and the gun and Dagan passed a polygraph. So, see? Case closed." She grinned. "Don't get too excited, now, McGee."

"Sorry, I just…" He didn't know what to say. He was fairly certain that Moussad hadn't mentioned anything about Dagan being in the US, and Ziva would have mentioned it if he had been expected. It wasn't relevant to the current situation, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. "That's good work, Abby."

"Aw, thanks, Gibbs."

"McGee."

She smiled and pointed through the camera. "You sounded like Gibbs just now."

"Yeah, I've even got the gut feeling to…" His eyes went wide. "I've gotta go. See you soon." He slammed the computer shut before Abby could say goodbye.

* * *

Gibbs opened his eyes and sat straight up in bed when the door of the room slammed against the wall. His head felt fine, which came as a mild shock, but he still didn't appreciate the wake-up call. "What the hell are you doin' McGee?"

"Boss, I had a thought. Actually a feeling. Y'know, the gut…"

"Spit it out."

"Oh, right. Well, I just talked to Abby and she was telling me about how the case we were working on before we left was resolved with the help of Moussad. Eyal Dagan killed Schaeffer, who killed West. We're not sure why, but I don't know if that's…"

Gibbs stood rubbing his face with his hands. "So you're saying your gut told you to wake me up to tell me this?"

"Huh? No! I wouldn't have…yeah, so I thought, Dagan? Why didn't Moussad tell us he was involved? And then I started thinking about all the things Moussad doesn't tell us which made me think of the car crash and…boss, what if the Moussad team working with NCIS here is like the car crash?"

"A distraction?" He sat back on the bed and pulled on his boots. It was a definite possibility, considering both teams had flown east to the Azores several hours before. "You have any idea where we should start our own search?"

"The next stop on the itinerary was Salzburg, but I doubt that's where they went."

"Great. One city down. How many more in Europe? And North Africa? And the Middle East?" He answered his phone with the same angry frustration with which he'd just been addressing McGee. "What?"

"I know we just kind of disappeared yesterday, boss, but you don't have to…"

Relief replaced all other emotion as Gibbs interrupted, "DiNozzo? Where the hell are you?"

"Elba," he answered, as if that should have been the most obvious answer. "But we're waiting for Director David to arrive and he's going to bring us to you guys. You're in Rota, right?"

"Yeah. Ziva's with you?"

"Uh-huh. She's hurt, but she's gonna be okay." Voices and machines were suddenly audible in the background. "Oh, I gotta go. See you in a few hours!"

"DiNozzo? DiNozzo?" Gibbs threw the phone across the room. "Damn it!"

McGee grabbed the mostly undamaged phone and reattached the battery, asking eagerly, "That was Tony? They got away from Tushkevich?"

"He didn't say, but considering they're with Moussad…" Gibbs sighed. He hadn't exactly been looking forward to a chance to kill Tushkevich, but he wasn't shying away from it, either. If Moussad were running the op, he was already dead. Gibbs sighed again. "Nice call with the gut, McGee."

"Oh. Thank you." He scratched the back of his neck. "Did he say where they are?"

"On their way here, apparently." Gibbs finished tying his boots and looked up at McGee. "Any idea where they keep the coffee on this base?"


	33. Chapter 33

Tony sat in a low beach chair under the awning of the open-air hangar, whistling the theme song from _Charlie's Angels_. Realizing what he was doing, he immediately stopped and looked at Ziva, lying on a lowered gurney beside him, to make sure she was still unconscious. She looked better than she had when they'd arrived at the airfield, dusty from the ride in the Jeep, but she wasn't awake yet.

He told himself he wasn't worried. It had only been about twenty minutes since… When Geller had come back into the room, Tony had told him she'd just suddenly passed out, which really was the truth. The bumpy ride in the back seat of the Jeep hadn't revived her. The talkative medic who had looked her over and rebandaged her head had told Tony the changing adrenalin levels during the standoff coupled with her weakened state had most likely caused the fainting spell.

Of course, while cleaning up and bandaging Tony's knob wound, the medic had also mentioned how lucky it was they'd had a gurney on hand; they had been planning to use it for transporting Tushkevich's body.

Now, Ziva was strapped to it in preparation for their flight and Tushkevich was in a black body bag on the ground across the hangar. Tony had crossed the space no less than three times to unzip the bag and confirm that Tushkevich was indeed in the bag. He tried to find the scars on the chest of the corpse from the his first supposed death, but the number of bullets Ziva had fired into the heart area made those marks indiscernible.

Tony glanced at the bag suspiciously, contemplating another check before turning his attention back to Ziva. He twisted the engagement ring, stuck just below the first knuckle of his right pinky finger, in circles. He'd thought about slipping it on her finger while she was out, but decided against it in case she awoke disoriented and threw it away when she didn't recognize it. He played with her fingers instead. "Y'know, even if it is my fault and I shocked you into unconsciousness, you aren't going to be able to blame me. I mean, this isn't _Gone with the Wind_ or something. You're not exactly the swooning type."

She turned her head and moaned softly in response.

He bent his pinky, hiding it in his sling, and leaned toward her. "Ziva?"

She took a few shallow breaths and opened her eyes, squinting in the noonday sun. "Tony. Where are we?"

"Still on Elba, but your father's plane is arriving shortly to whisk us away to Rota. I talked to Gibbs not long ago and he's gonna be standing on the runway waiting to chew us out, I'm sure."

"Okay." She nodded slowly, looking at him. "Are you wearing different clothes?"

"Uh-huh. I changed because I had little bits of…" He stopped just short of saying 'brain' and amended his statement, "Yeah, I'd been wearing those clothes for a while and needed some fresh ones."

She didn't seem to notice his pause. "Why am I tied up?"

"For fun? I thought it was your turn to wake up tied to something."

She gave him a look that carried a warning involving her velvet-lined handcuffs, but only said, "Seriously, Tony."

"You were unconscious and we're about to fly." He gave her a quick kiss. "Don't think of them as restraints; they're just like…full body seatbelts."

"Undo the one across my chest."

He searched for the release mechanism. "Since you're hurt, I'm not going to make you say the magic…aha!" He found the catch and the strap slid off the side of the gurney. "Better?"

"A little. Now I can breathe, but I'm still nauseous."

"You've been nauseous for, like, a day and a half." He grinned, but she was looking at him strangely. He sensed he was about to have a lot of explaining to do. "Uh…"

Before he could launch into the reasons he'd thought proposing in the presence of a corpse made perfect sense, she said, "I had the strangest dream. We were sitting on the chair right after I shot Dmitri and you suddenly…actually, forget it."

She seemed very unsure. Maybe he wouldn't have any explaining to do after all. "No, what?"

"I don't want to freak you out. Just forget it."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "You can tell me."

"Well…you said, 'Marry me.'" She didn't give him time to reply, immediately saying, "Don't read into that. I know we kind of talked about it while we were at the Embassy, but I don't want you to feel like I'm trying to pressure you into anything."

"So…you don't want me to propose to you?"

"I didn't say that. I just don't want you to feel like you have to. We…I thought we agreed that we weren't even going to talk about _this_ for six months. I'm not expecting you to propose, is what I'm trying to say, no matter what my, my subconscious is saying."

He smiled and allowed his finger to peek out of his sling, the edge of the material just covering the ring. "What if I want to?"

Her eyes and mouth made three perfect Os in the moment before he realized how glad he was he'd only released one of the straps. "You _did_ ask me to marry you!!"

"I didn't mean to!"

"What?!" she practically squawked.

"No, I didn't mean…I want to ask you to marry me, but I didn't plan to do it like that. It just…"

"Are you trying to tell me you proposed by accident? Were you afraid I'd marry someone else and wanted to make sure you snapped me up the second I was on the market?"

"It wasn't like that!" He tried to calm down and describe the events in a logical progression, "I saw Tushkevich dead, I've been thinking about this nonstop for the past day and it just…slipped out."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "How romantic."

He couldn't see any way out. "Look, do you want the damn ring or not?"

Her expression instantly softened into a pleasantly surprised smile. "Where did you get a ring?"

"Schwartz and Son in DC." With a little effort, he tugged the ring off his own finger and held it out to her. "I went out while you were at work one day. I took a cab. I…"

"You weren't just covering yourself? You've been carrying this around with you this whole time?"

"Uh, I actually left it in this secret spot I have in the apartment…"

She nodded, but her eyes were fixed on the diamond, sparkling in the sunlight. "Under the floorboard in the bedroom?"

"You knew I bought a ring?"

"No. The edge of the board was a little bit uneven one day. I saw the metal box under the floor, but I didn't look inside. I assumed it was more porn."

"Uh, _more_ porn?" he asked, distracted by the effort of trying to sound innocent.

"Yes, like the DVDs in the secret compartment in the entertainment center or the magazines under the false bottom in the third bureau drawer. Oh, or in the closet in the spare room…"

"Okay. I get it. You snooped."

"I would never. I'm just highly observant. We're getting off topic though. Can I have that?" She gazed longingly at the ring, still clasped between his thumb and forefinger.

"You want it?"

"Of course."

"You get that it's not just a pretty ring I'm giving you because I'm a good boyfriend?"

"Yes. Stop delaying becoming a good fiancé."

"All right. It's yours." He moved to hand it to her. "Wait. Let's do this right."

"Tony, you don't have to kneel. This isn't a movie."

"But…"

"We want to marry each other, we both know it and that's what matters. Now, ring me." She held up her hand and wiggled her ring finger.

He laughed and slipped the ring on it. She beamed at her hand and he was amazed. "If I'd known you were going to smile like that, I wouldn't have waited. I knew you liked diamonds, but…"

"It isn't really about the diamond." She met his gaze. If she looked this radiant now, he could only imagine what she was going to look like on their wedding day; he would probably be the one fainting. "It's perfect. Except…" She beckoned him closer with her index finger. He obliged, perching on the side of the gurney. The fact that she was the last woman he was ever going to kiss this way entered his mind, but it wasn't as scary a thought as he'd feared it would be. It didn't hurt that she was a fantastic kisser, and kissing usually led to…

Suddenly, she pulled back. He looked at her with concern, almost all thoughts of sex pushed from his head. The smile was gone from her face and eyes, replaced by something unsure and a little bit green. "Ziva, are you okay?"

"I think I'm going to…" She leaned over the opposite side of the gurney and threw up on the ground.

Tony was surprised to hear her father's voice before he could offer any comfort himself. "Tony! Is she all right?"

"Well…" He rubbed her back as she vomited, waiting for Abraham to get closer. Not wanting to state the obvious, he said, "We're engaged."

"Hm." Abraham shook his head. "I had had the impression she was going to be pleased about it."

Ziva leaned back on the gurney, wiping her mouth. "Shalom, Abba."

When Tony stood to allow Abraham to greet his daughter, he caught sight of the puddle on the tarmac. "Shit. Not again."


	34. Chapter 34

"What?" Ziva looked from Tony's concerned face to her father's, trying to sound surprised. "What is it?"

Tony pointed to the ground. "You're throwing up blood again."

She didn't have to look; she'd seen it coming out. Her prior injuries coupled with the fact that she hadn't eaten anything had given her a pretty good idea of what the volume of vomit meant. She waved it off nonchalantly. "Right, that. Well, I was going to have to check into the hospital in Rota anyway…"

"Rota?" Tony asked with an incredulous laugh. "We're getting in the Jeep and heading for the hospital here."

She looked away from Tony, turning to her father. "Abba, how long is the flight to Rota?"

"Roughly an hour."

"Then let's get going." He squeezed her hand and nodded, standing to speak to one of his aides across the hangar.

Tony paced on the tarmac in a tight circle, taking three steps in one direction before spinning on his heel and repeating the process in the opposite direction. "You really want to fly? It's crazy. I mean, this is a very, very simple equation – you're puking blood, you see the closest doctor available. Simple."

"Tony, relax."

"How can I relax?" He continued his anxious pacing. "I shouldn't have shoved you to the ground like I did. I knew you were already hurt and I wrecked whatever they fixed in the hospital."

She hoped she was getting tired just watching him and not as a precursor to another fainting spell. "I didn't necessarily tear a suture when you knocked me down, which, if you remember, you did to save my life. And anyway, if that were the case, I'd have gotten sick before now."

"Maybe you only tore one suture. It could be a slow bleed. You can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick."

"I didn't swallow it. The wound is just bleeding into my stomach."

"Same difference. Besides, I was quoting _Fight Club_." He ran his hands through his hair, mussing it. "I should have thought of a better plan than taking you down."

"It doesn't matter. We're going to Rota. Think of it this way – maybe they didn't do such a good job in the hospital here and that's why I'm bleeding again."

He finally stopped pacing and sat on the gurney next to her. "I'm not going to change your mind no matter what I say, am I?"

"No."

"All right. Maybe I'll just go have a chat with Abraham."

"My father is the one making the arrangements for us to leave as soon as possible. If you think I'm stubborn, have fun convincing him to change his mind."

"This is a…a health issue. I don't think…"

"He had me flown from Siberia to Tel Aviv and I was in a lot worse shape then. Oh, not to mention the fact that I don't think Moussad informed the Italian authorities about this op."

"Meaning?"

"Uhhhggn," she moaned, taking a moment to compose herself as another wave of nausea washed over her. "Meaning the sooner we're in another country accompanied by all the evidence we were here, the better." She won the ensuing staring contest. Or, more accurately, she would have won if she been able to decide which Tony to stare at. The sudden dizziness was doing little to calm her stomach. She muttered, "I'm not marrying both of you."

The Tonys expressions changed from challenge to worry. "How many fingers?"

She looked down at her hands. "Ten. Thank God."

"I meant how many fingers am I holding up?"

She looked up and was relieved to find she was back to one Tony. "Three. Although I can think of some fun I might have had with two of you."

"Maybe we should get you out of this heat." He stood and suddenly turned into two Tonys again as he walked toward her two fathers. She blinked hard and things returned to normal for a few seconds until she was hanging off the gurney again, painting the pavement.

When her stomach stopped trying to forcibly eject itself through her mouth, she let herself collapse against the back of the gurney. Trying to think about something other than her rotating list of symptoms, she focused on her new engagement ring. Tony had done a good job picking something subtle but beautiful. It would look nice with a simple gold wedding band.

Wedding. There had to be a wedding now. How long could she put something like that off? She had nothing against marriage, or she wouldn't have told Tony she wanted to marry him, but a wedding was a whole different issue. She had the feeling that it wasn't a step she was going to be able to skip.

"Are you gonna throw up again?"

She saw Tony's feet standing close to the edge of the gurney. "Maybe."

The feet took a few steps back. "We're gonna get on the plane. It's a little cooler and we should be leaving pretty soon. I'll see about getting a bucket."

"We've had a lot to do with buck-" She almost didn't get her body over the side of her gurney.

"Well, well, well," a familiar voice chuckled. "Sorry I couldn't do more to help you down at the marina, but I'm not exactly the superhero type like some of my colleagues." When Ziva finally leaned back, Tom Mangum was introducing himself to Tony, "Hey there. Walter Mangum, MI6."

Tony shook his hand weakly. "I thought your name was Tom."

"Uh, I just gave them that name at the hospital and I figured the Russian would get suspicious if someone called me another name when I was annoying him, so I just told him it was Tom."

"Why did you need an alias?"

"Personal problem," Mangum answered, pointing down. "You know how it is with working girls…"

"No, I don't, actually," Tony interrupted with a nervous glance toward Ziva.

Mangum didn't notice. "Well, they don't have the highest standards of hygiene, is all. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure the pretty lady was okay before I got back to my vacation." He leaned over her. "You feel better, okay?"

She nodded. "Thank you."

"Hey, just doing my duty. I may be working for the Brits, but that doesn't mean I'm not willing to help out my fellow Americans. Well, I didn't find out you guys were Navy until a few minutes ago, but…well, glad they got you." The fat man shook Tony's hand and waddled away, his red Hawaiian shirt like a beacon on the runway.

Tony sank onto the gurney. "That man just wrecked both Magnum and Bond in one fell swoop."

"He's the one responsible for saving our lives, Tony. Moussad wouldn't have found us in time if he hadn't told them what to look for."

"Still. Oh! No. He's getting in a minivan. He couldn't even have a nice car?"

She rubbed the side of his neck, watching her ring sparkle. "Are we getting on the plane or not?"

"Yeah, yeah. Your litter bearers are on the way."


	35. Chapter 35

Tony struggled as he tried to release the locks on the chair's sliding track. It would be much easier just to sit on the couch, but he'd annoyed the two Moussad men who'd carried Ziva's stretcher onto the plane to strap it down next to one of the tracks so he could sit right beside her. They'd abandoned him after securing her gurney; he was going to be very embarrassed if he hadn't managed to move the seat before they reboarded the plane. He muttered, "You'd think they'd take pity on the guy with the sling." The lock came out for a moment, but snapped back into place and he withdrew his hand. He sucked on his finger as it throbbed, tasting the unpleasant iron flavor of blood. "Damn it!"

"What are you doing back there?" Ziva was peeking around the edge of her gurney, with only the top half of her face visible.

He laughed, talking around the injured finger, "I'm fine. Turn around, prairie dog."

"Finger sucker," she retorted, disappearing behind the gurney.

He inspected his finger, which appeared none the worse for wear, and returned to the seat's locking mechanism. It popped up with no effort and he slid the seat to a position beside Ziva. He secured the lock before sitting with a flourish. "Not bad for a one-armed man, huh?"

"Yes, I've often wondered when a chair will be able to outthink you. That one came awfully close."

"Yeah, well…uh, you talk funny." He put on his best game show host grin to combat her hostile glare. "I got stuck. In other news, I'm pretty sure it's illegal for four year olds to marry in most states."

"Hm. Are you saying we should wait a few years?"

"No…" He didn't bother explaining his joke or telling her he was stuck again as he slumped in his seat. He'd been so focused with getting the ring on her finger, he hadn't really thought that far ahead. Now that they were engaged, they'd have to get married at some point. He suddenly thought of a more pressing and therefore appropriately distracting issue. "Uh, we could still do the no discussion for six months thing. More importantly, though, what about our living arrangement? Do you still want to move into the new apartment and I'll wait until my lease is up?"

"We don't have to discuss that now. I don't move until next month."

"So, we're just gonna put off talking about everything?" He tried not to wince as the words left his mouth. What was he saying? He _wanted_ to delay talking. Talking was bad. Talking was… "Because I think we should at least talk about that sooner rather than later." She looked at him curiously and he was sure his brain had turned traitor. "Just so…well, we're settled on it and I can talk to my landlord to see if I can get out of my lease early or sublet or whatever."

"I take it you want to keep living together without the break in between?"

"Is it that unbelievable? I mean, yesterday morning, two guys showed up for a friendly evacuation and kidnapping." He pursed his lips as he realized what he was getting at.

In spite of her head injury, she was still quick enough to pick it up too. "You want to be there in case it happens again? It won't."

"Can you be sure?"

"Anyone else who would want to come after me has had plenty of chances since I've been in DC. There's just as much chance of one of them coming after me as someone you collared coming after you."

"Okay." He noticed that she was plucking the bandage on her leg through her pants again, but decided not to dig deeper. There was probably a greater chance that someone would want her dead, given her past work on terrorism. Still, he could live with that. "Maybe we should stay together to watch each other's backs."

"Can I have the bucket?"

He handed her the ice bucket, the best receptacle he'd been able to find on the plane. "I'm starting to think we should save these conversations until you're better. It seems like every time I bring up something relationship-related you pass out or…" he made a face as she retched, "…yeah, do that."

Her face reappeared for a moment. "Not exactly my fault."

"I know. It's just…" He walked to the counter and started hunting through the cabinets. He returned with a clean towel just in time for her to hand him the bucket. "Uh, thanks."

Accepting the towel, she managed a weak smile. "Thank you."

Against his better judgment, he glanced into the bucket as he took it to the bathroom to clean it. He left the door open and shouted, "You've got time to change your mind. We can still go to the hospital here." He almost convinced himself that it only looked like a lot of blood because the water was diluting it.

When he emerged from the lavatory, Abraham was the one to reply, "We are taking off momentarily. Is this still satisfactory?"

Tony allowed Ziva to answer, "Yes."

He returned to his seat at her side, swiveling his chair so he could look at her father, seated on the small couch visible from Ziva's position. Abraham regarded him carefully, but said nothing. Tony decided to speak, "Is this all okay with you?"

He nodded. "It is a short flight and if Ziva has no objection to making it…"

"I meant the whole engagement thing," Tony blurted out.

"Tony!" Ziva swatted at his arm and he turned his chair so he could look at both of them. "This isn't the Middle Ages. You don't have to get his permission."

"He's your dad. Don't you think he has an opinion?"

"Yes, but we've already decided…"

"Ziva," Abraham intoned. Tony enjoyed the way she shrank slightly. That must have been the voice Abraham had used when little Ziva's not-yet-stealth ninja moves resulted in broken vases and the like. He continued, "It is true that this is your decision to make, but I certainly think that I should have some involvement."

"You're not interrogating him," she said, tightly clutching the bucket Tony had returned to her.

"You forget that I have had some time to get to know him through more traditional methods. Whether you want it or not, I give this union my blessing."

"Fine."

"Fine." Abraham stood and approached Ziva. Tony thought they were about to start arguing or worse up close, but he leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead. "Congratulations, Ziva."

She smiled brightly. "Thank you, Abba."

"And Tony," he said, turning and seizing Tony's left hand in both of his, "congratulations to you as well." He sat hurriedly as the plane's engines began to whine and several of the Moussad men boarded and seated themselves.

Tony braced his feet against the floor and gripped Ziva's hand; he couldn't buckle his seatbelt with his right arm in the sling and the only person he was willing to ask for help was in no position to give it. He held his breath for what felt like an hour as the plane hurtled down the runway and lifted off. Thankfully, as it was a short trip, it didn't take long to reach their cruising altitude. When he felt the plane level off, he slackened his grip on Ziva's hand and whispered, "Thanks."

She leaned toward him and whispered back, "Squeeze the railing on the gurney when we land. I don't want to add 'broken fingers' to my list."

Abraham chuckled. "I don't suppose you are whispering about wedding plans."

"Not for a while," Ziva answered, changing the bucket's position. Tony could tell from her expression that she was probably going to get sick again very soon.

Abraham either didn't notice or didn't mind. "Is it too early to ask how many grandchildren I'll be spoiling?"

Tony almost snatched the bucket away from Ziva, but she clearly had the greater need at the moment. Engagement…marriage…_children_? He and Ziva couldn't raise a child, much less several of them. Well, Ziva had probably taken some Moussad classes on child rearing or something, but he was…what did you even _do_ with kids? He started to gasp. His mind finally suggested taking them to ballgames for peanuts and Cracker Jacks, but that only lasted a couple hours even if you didn't care when you got back and you'd need season tickets and even then there were away games so what did you do with them then? Not to mention the entire winter when there were no ballgames at all, unless you had basketball and football tickets too, but kids were expensive enough without all the major sporting events that only constituted a small percentage of the time with them which was all the time because they were yours and they didn't disappear even when you could send them to school and…

"Tony! Relax! Breathe!"

He followed Ziva's advice and took a few deep breaths, reminding himself that she wasn't actually pregnant so any freaking out was premature. Premature? Preemies needed even more care than full term babies and they already needs tons of care, like feedings and diaper changes and late-night rocking to get them to go to sleep and… He took a few more deep breaths. Not pregnant.

Ziva and Abraham were both looking at him anxiously. Abraham waited until his breathing had returned to normal to say, "I apologize. I had no idea the suggestion of having children would send you into such a panic."

Tony shrugged, trying to downplay his reaction. "So maybe I was hyperventilating a little. She threw up."

"I'm bleeding internally," she protested. Giving Tony's hand an encouraging squeeze, she said to her father, "We're not getting married right away, so there's no way we're even considering the idea of having children for a long, long time."

"But you will be considering it?"

"Don't push it, Abba."

Now that it was in the open, however, Tony felt a definite answer would be preferable to queasy uncertainty. He tugged Ziva's hand, drawing her attention to him. "Uh, I'd kind of like to know too. Will we be…considering it?"

"I don't know. We'll have to wait and see."

"That's not a real answer."

"Fine. No."

"No?"

"Yes."

"Yes, no or yes, considering it?"

"Whatever you want it to mean."

"Ziva…"

"Just forget about it." It sounded more like kind guidance than an order.

He kissed her cheek. "Right. So did we decide to move in together permanently? I don't think we came to a conclusion before you started throwing up…"


	36. Chapter 36

Jenny stood inside the small building beside the runway where Director David's jet was scheduled to arrive shortly, wondering whose idea it had been to make airplanes so loud. And sunlight so bright. She pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and turned jealously toward Gibbs. He was chatting with McGee, drinking a cup of coffee and staring directly out the window into the glaring afternoon light. Jenny had attempted to eat something, but the first hint of flavor on her tongue had drawn a lurch of protest from her stomach. For what she hoped was the last of many times, she swore off alcohol.

Not counting wine with dinner.

Or Champagne toasts at official functions.

Or the occasional drink while stuck late at the office with paperwork.

She sank into one of the chairs lined up in front of the window. No more binge drinking. Two drink maximum. Only water when stressed. Okay. She was going to have to include an anti-disappearing clause for her agents if this was going to work. She had been drinking only because she had been worried. If it had to be a competition, she supposed it meant she'd been more worried than Gibbs and McGee combined.

The sudden wailing of an ambulance siren felt like a knife slicing through her brain and it took her a moment to realize that she should still be a little worried. Tushkevich was dead and Tony and Ziva were safe, but Ziva had serious but vague injuries that required an ambulance to blare and flash directly outside the building, sending its strobing red lights of evil to burn holes through Jenny's corneas and its grating siren of…

"You okay there, Jen?" Gibbs asked, dropping into the seat beside her.

"Why the hell aren't you hungover?"

"Just lucky, I guess," he answered with an infuriating smirk. "They're on approach right now. Should be landing in the next five minutes."

"Right. Tell me again why Ziva needs the ambulance."

"Internal bleeding."

Jenny removed her sunglasses and massaged her temples with two fingers on each side. "That's it?"

"I think that's pretty serious."

"No, I mean we don't have any other details?"

"Considering Moussad has had a team here since yesterday actively hindering NCIS's investigation?" he spat. "I'm surprised they've bothered to tell us that much."

"They're giving us the body."

"Great. Now they can just return our man-hours and we'll be even."

"Jethro…"

"I mean it. I'm already short one agent in the field because of DiNozzo's arm and now Ziva's gonna be out again for God knows how long. I shouldn't be losing an agent every few months because Moussad has some big important mission they think is more important than what we do. And another thing…"

"I wasn't questioning your righteous outrage," Jenny interrupted. She dropped her voice to a hissing whisper, "Just the need to _state it so damn loudly_." He gave a snort of laughter and she shot him a death glare. "Don't make me order you to stop enjoying this, Special Agent Gibbs."

"That's them!" McGee suddenly shouted, pointing to a small white jet with blue trim touching down on the runway outside.

Jenny gave a displeased grunt as he opened the door to run out, admitting the noise of the airfield into the building. She put her sunglasses on and followed. Gibbs opened the door with a flourish, allowing her to step onto the tarmac ahead of him. At least the ambulance siren was off.

Director David's jet made a wide turn at the end of the runway and taxied toward them. Jenny braced herself for the noise, swearing off alcohol once again.

Maybe just Scotch.

* * *

Ziva picked at one of the bandages on her arms as she waited for the anesthesiologist in the operating room. She had been ready for surgery for almost twenty minutes, but one of the nurses had informed her that the on-call doctor had taken ill and their other anesthesiologist had been golfing at a course an hour's drive away. She was just happy they'd given her something for the pain and to stop the vomiting.

The reunion with her NCIS colleagues at the airport had been brief, more of a wave and a 'hello' as she had been loaded into the ambulance and they had gone to deal with Dmitri's body. Tony had met her in the emergency room just before the hospital staff had moved her upstairs, but she hadn't been able to do anything more than hand off her necklace and ring with the caveat, "I want them back as soon as possible."

"Of course," he'd replied, kissing her cheek and whispering, "I love you."

She wasn't sure he'd heard her reply because the elevator doors had closed in his face. All the rushing had stopped the moment she'd entered the OR. The hands on the clock were slow in moving, giving her plenty of time to think about what had happened in the past two days. She had never thought such an odd string of events would happen to her, but, naturally, who else? She hoped McGee wouldn't be including it in his next novel.

She turned her head as several people in scrubs entered the room. "Sorry we've had to keep you waiting, Miss David. Logistics, you know." The man, who didn't bother identifying himself, hurriedly placed a mask over her face. "I just need you to count back from 100."

As Ziva started to seriously relax, a somewhat familiar Asian nurse leaned over her face for a moment before looking at the other nurse. "I think I know her from somewhere."

The second nurse, a woman with dark, bushy eyebrows, entered Ziva's field of vision. "Huh. She does look…Oh! Remember last month when someone tried to shoot the panda at the National Zoo and those two NCIS agents were in with the elephant?"

"That's right!" The first nurse's face appeared again. "Agent David, do you remember me?"

"Dah-VEED…" Ziva muttered, drifting into unconsciousness.

* * *

Tony tapped his foot impatiently on the tiled floor in the waiting room. Abraham had asked him to stop pacing ten minutes ago, Gibbs had ordered him to stop babbling twenty minutes before that and Jenny had taken away his Coca-Cola a few minutes prior to that. He'd discovered Pop Rocks in the vending machine and tried to amuse himself with the combination. McGee had appreciated it. He'd lost his soda too.

The wait, although it had been only an hour thus far, was becoming interminable. Tony stood and walked to the large window to watch the sun setting over the treetops. He played with the charm hanging at his throat, now accompanied by the diamond from his pocket. Abraham had been kind enough to clasp the necklace when Tony could not, due to his previous injury. The ER staff had insisted on taking x-rays, but his cast and arm hadn't been damaged during his brief scuffle on Elba. He suspected the check-up had been instigated by either Gibbs or Jenny to prevent him from following Ziva directly into the OR.

The sun finally disappeared completely, leaving an orange glow in its wake and a reflection of Gibbs beside him in the plate glass. He didn't speak until the sky had shifted from orange to red to purple. "She put all those bullets in Tushkevich?"

"Yeah. I saw her do it." Tony paused. "She saved my life."

"Good. That's how it should have been." He fell silent and the two men stood staring out into the darkening world. Gibbs finally said, "You asked her?"

Tony couldn't help but smile. "Yup."

"She said yes?"

He clasped the ring and Star of David together. "Uh-huh."

"When?"

"No idea." He neglected to add, 'Whenever she says'

"Make sure…"

"…out of the office. I know."

"Don't interrupt, DiNozzo. I was gonna say make sure you invite me. I don't want the two of you just showing up married one Monday."

They both broke into quiet laughter. Tony finally replied, "I'll see what I can do."

"I know. I've been married a few times." Gibbs turned and extended his left hand. "I hope it's your last."

Tony accepted the gesture, appreciating the accommodation for his broken arm that so few people made. "It will be."

"Knowing Ziva…" Gibbs gave another soft snigger. "She's gonna be fine."

"I know."

"Good." Gibbs' reflection disappeared, replaced a few minutes later by McGee's.

He didn't speak, so Tony eventually said, "I proposed to Ziva."

"Yeah, I saw her hand when she got off the plane."

"Oh."

"Um…how did you do it?" At Tony's questioning look, McGee rambled, "It's not that I'm all that interested in knowing, not that I don't care or something like that, but it's just that Abby will want to know and if I don't have the details she may…"

Tony stopped him. "Hold on. Why aren't you surprised about any of this?"

"Well, I saw the ring in DC."

"Gibbs showed you the ring?"

"Not on purpose! It fell out of his pocket when he was showing your note to the Director and I. Then I told Abby and I think she told Ducky, and I think Agent Lee and Palmer and Cynthia know…"

"Great," Tony muttered. Even though everyone in the agency already knew he and Ziva were involved, it would have been fun to be secretly engaged for a while. "And what about…"

He didn't bother to finish, turning and sprinting toward a surgeon saying, "I'm Dr. Neidermeyer. Are you all with Miss David?"

Five voices chorused, "Dah-VEED."

"Yes, sorry," the surgeon replied with a slight eye roll. "Well, she's come through the surgery quite well. She's in recovery now and she'll be moved to a room in the ICU soon."

The news was not enough. Tony nodded eagerly. "Can I see her?"

"No visitors until she's in ICU and I'm afraid we have a family only policy there."

"Excellent," Abraham answered. "So her father and her future husband will be allowed to visit."

Tony watched the surgeon wither under the Moussad Director's stare. "Uh, yes. Of course. Take a right at the end of this hall and all the way down."

Tony was halfway down the second hall when Abraham caught him.


	37. Chapter 37

Tony stopped in his hurried tracks as Abraham's grip closed around his left forearm. "I know. No running in the halls."

"Indeed." Abraham looked up and down the hall, his gaze settling on the closed door of an unlit room before returning to Tony. "Perhaps we could take a few minutes? We have not yet had a chance for a private word."

Tony didn't even bother trying to tug his arm from the older man's grasp. "Shouldn't we check on Ziva first?"

"You know as well as I that once you're there, you won't leave. And the surgeon did say that she hasn't even been moved to the ICU yet. I believe we have time."

"This is the part where you threaten me, huh?"

"No." Abraham opened the door, clicked on the light and beckoned Tony in behind him. When the door was firmly closed, he continued, "Perhaps just a bit."

"She does that same thing."

"What thing?"

Tony smiled as he pulled a chair from across the room to join Abraham, now seated at a small table. "Denying something and acting all affronted before admitting it. Depending on what we're talking about she does this little shrug and kinda squinches her eyebrows together. It's very…" He trailed off, taking solace in the fact that he was in a hospital at least. The look he was getting from Abraham was highly disconcerting. "Yeah, you don't want to hear about that. I'd say do your worst, but then you actually might."

He sat quietly in the chair across from Tony, surveying him. "Let me begin by saying I do not want you to think I disapprove of this marriage. I have given you my blessing and I meant it sincerely. I know that Ziva loves you and that you love her."

"I…"

"Do not speak. I will not insult your intelligence by lying about the measures I have taken regarding you. Moussad had some information on you, collected when Ari…let us avoid that topic." Abraham took a moment to collect himself while Tony pulled his shaking hand off the table, abruptly reminded that Ziva had yet to speak to her father about the secret Dmitri had been willing to sell to Hamas.

_And I thought I was getting the rough conversation_, Tony mused, before returning his attention to Abraham.

"I did not realize how serious your involvement with Ziva was until we met. Since that time, I admit that you have been under careful surveillance and your file has been expanded." He crossed his hands on the table in front of him. "Your romantic history is extensive. Under other circumstances, I'm certain I would be impressed. I know that you and I have already had several conversations in which you admitted as much and assured me that your past exploits were truly in the past. While I have no reason to doubt that, I want you to know that, should you return to your old ways, I will find out." His hands spread across the table's surface as he pressed his palms flat and leaned forward. "And I will not react benevolently."

Tony held his ground. "I'm not going to cheat on her."

"I believe I asked you not to speak." Abraham spoke with none of the casual familiarity Tony was used to in their interaction. "My chief concern in this matter is Ziva's happiness, which I fear I have little experience preserving. You are happy together now, but things can change."

He opened his mouth to argue, but Abraham's glare checked him more effectively than any head slap.

"I realize that all relationships go through rough times and that sometimes even the best ones do not result in good marriages. If you find that you and Ziva are not as well suited as you believe yourselves to be, I do not want you to be afraid to end the relationship, as long as you do it honestly and respectfully."

After waiting in silence for a few moments, Tony asked warily, "Can I say something now?"

"Yes, but be sure that it isn't just a speech about how you love Ziva and would never do anything to hurt her or how you have every confidence that you'll be together for the rest of your lives."

"Oh." He probably would have descended into such reassurances. Even though he genuinely believed them, they _would_ sound trite if he said them out loud. He stared at the table, trying to figure out what Abraham was up to. It wasn't about obtaining information – he had that in spades and could get more with a phone call or memo or note wrapped around a brick thrown through a window. Tony decided to try the direct approach. "What exactly are you trying to do here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you said it yourself – we've been over this stuff and you don't have a problem with me marrying Ziva. What are you really trying to do?"

Abraham smiled. "You are more clever than you appear. I had forgotten I read that in one of the reports."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

"Honestly? I am seeking personal reassurance. I have failed Ziva at many turns and, although I am already certain that this is not something any of us will regret, I like having it confirmed. Intelligence work does it to a man. Perhaps you would indulge me one last time?"

Tony felt himself relax. "Yeah, okay."

"I know you are eager to see Ziva, so we'll do this quickly. Yes or no answers will suffice. You love Ziva?"

"Yes."

"You want to marry her?"

"Yes."

"Grow old with her?"

"Yes."

"Have children with her?"

"Yes." Tony didn't realize what he'd said until his stomach landed somewhere on the floor beneath him. "Wait…"

"Unnecessary. I've learned what I wanted to know." Abraham's grin said enough.

"We just had a whole conversation about your fake problems with me so you could trick me into saying I want kids?"

"I didn't trick you. I put you on edge then allowed you to relax, eliminating the trouble of thinking before you answered the question. And now we both know what you really want. If I had asked you point blank in the hall, you would have hee-ed and hawed and refused to give me a straight answer."

"Hemmed and hawed," Tony replied absently. "Donkeys hee-haw."

"Eh, it is not important."

Tony stood and began pacing to escape Abraham's triumphant smile. "Just because I said yes doesn't mean…you set me up to say yes without thinking after the first few questions."

"So? You still answered yes. Now you have to think about it."

"No I don't. I'm not father material."

"Six months ago would you have considered yourself ready for marriage?"

He froze. After what felt like an eternity of blank, thoughtless avoidance, he muttered, "We should go see if they moved her yet."

Abraham nodded and they exited the room. A few steps down the hall, he seized Tony's arm once again. "There is one more thing. No matter what she says, you are to keep your hands off her until a doctor gives her the go-ahead. She was completely exhausted for three days after you left Tel Aviv."

Already jittery from unwelcome and deeply confusing thoughts about fatherhood, Tony was totally unprepared for the segue into a second topic he didn't want Abraham anywhere near. "No, I…but we…"

"Do _not_ share details," Abraham warned gruffly. "She told me she insisted, but, should history repeat, I am telling you right now that you are to win that battle of wills. You have plenty of time between now and the wedding to think about what we discussed."

* * *

Ziva blinked a few times as her head began to clear. A nurse suddenly appeared on her right. Ziva blinked hard, but the image didn't change. She asked tentatively, "Lt. Kim?"

Lt. Pam Kim smiled, pulling the blue wrap off her head. "So you do remember me. How do you feel, Agent David?"

"Um…" Ziva searched for the right description, glad that there was currently no pain to distract from the dissipating fog in her head. She guessed, "Drugged?"

"Any pain?"

"Not at the moment."

"Once you're totally out of the anesthesia we'll get you on IV painkillers. ICU will take care of that."

Ziva watched Kim make silent notes on a chart, wondering if there was some way to warn Tony about his vengeful former paramour's presence. She concentrated, pulling up her mental file on the woman: surgical nurse. She worked in the operating room. She might not even see Tony. "So when am I going to ICU?"

Kim looked up from the chart, but didn't make eye contact, glancing at a digital readout instead. "We'll take you there in a few minutes."

"We?" Ziva looked around the room worriedly. She was more out of it than she'd thought if she had missed an entire human being in the room.

"Hey, relax. The transport guy is probably out at the desk. No one will be busting through the door." Kim gave her a significant look.

"Yes, sorry. I should have apologized for that." She shifted in the bed, a sharp pain in her leg telling her that the anesthesia was well on its way to being gone. "You'll have to forgive me if it wasn't the first thing on my mind at the moment."

Kim had the decency to look guilty. "I didn't mean it like that. Thank you, though. Scott and I have been doing well, so it's not like I have anything to complain about."

"Yeah," Ziva replied through gritted teeth. If she wasn't getting more painkillers until she got to ICU, she hoped she was getting there very, very soon.

"Agent David, your heart rate and blood pressure are rising. Are you in pain now?"

Ziva grunted.

"Okay, I'll just give you something," she paused as she injected something into the IV line that provided near-instant relief, "and we'll get you down to ICU. I think the surgeon said your father and fiancé are here, along with your whole NCIS team." She beckoned to someone through the window before carefully readying Ziva to be moved. "Sorry to make this about me again, but does that mean Tony DiNozzo is here? I know you used to work with him…"

"Still do."

"Right. Well, I'll just let Rick bring you down then. There's a family only policy in ICU, but Agent Gibbs didn't strike me as the type to pay that much attention to policy."

Ziva nodded. "Thank you."

The trip to ICU was short, mainly due to the breakneck speed at which Rick thought it proper to push the gurney. Ziva mused that this was probably what everyone was talking about when they belittled her driving. Other than some jarring to her injuries, she still couldn't see what the problem was.

He barreled around a corner and nearly collided with two men standing in the hall. The one whose arm had shot out to catch the end of the gurney shouted, "Hey, watch where you're…Ziva!" Tony's lips were pressed against hers for only milliseconds before he pulled away. "How are you?"

"I'll be better if we keep going. She promised me more drugs in ICU."

He walked alongside her as they continued down the hall. "Who?"

She gave her father, walking on her other side, a smile before turning back to Tony. "Lt. Pam Kim."

Ziva's longing for more painkillers was suddenly replaced by a burning desire for a camera. Tony looked almost as terrified as he had when her father had asked about grandchildren.


	38. Chapter 38

Tony pushed the wheeled tray away, deciding he'd eaten enough. Reconsidering, he grabbed the dish of pudding and a spoon. He spoke around his gooey mouthful, "Is it wrong that I've really cultivated a taste for hospital food?"

"Yes," Ziva replied without hesitation, watching him with a mixture of disgust and jealousy. "Tell me again why my father is out getting sandwiches for the two of you?"

He rubbed the back of his hand quickly over his lips and licked off a small streak of sticky chocolate. "We were both hungry and I only have one useable arm, so how could I carry two full grown men's meals?"

"Tony, you just ate the guest meal they brought for you and the full meal they brought for me in spite of the fact I can't eat anything right now and all my nutrients are coming from the banana bag on the IV pole. And don't say a word – that's what they really call it."

He set the empty pudding dish on the tray and traced the outline of a band-aid on her forearm. "I was just gonna say you've only been here for a few hours, but you already…"

"Stop."

The flash of anger in her eyes indicated that he was running into dangerous territory. Of course she knew the random names of medical paraphernalia after spending so much time hospitalized. It hadn't been much fun for him either, although, all other things being equal, he wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else. "Bad memories."

"Yes."

"I meant me. I can only imagine how you feel." He gave her a goofy grin. "If you'd prefer, we can stick to discussing my eating habits. We're lucky we got these meals, considering it's late on a Sunday evening. I, for one, am not going to complain after the crackers and canned, pressurized cheese on which it was my privilege to dine while caged. This is the first time I've had real food since we were at the Embassy in DC."

"That was yesterday afternoon."

He could hear the annoyance in her tone and tried to lighten the mood. "Yeah, well, that's more than twenty-four hours, you know, and I did burn a whole lot of calories with you during the first flight. While I was playing Tigger, I was starving. I couldn't even get a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. In Italy!"

"Please, just…" Her expression tightened, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. She subtly depressed the button on the small device in her hand and closed her eyes for a moment. When they opened, she was clearly more relaxed. "Have they found Juan yet?"

"Not yet."

"Maybe he'll just go home and keep his head down."

"Yeah. He wasn't such a bad guy. And by not a bad guy, I mean he didn't try to kill us or hurt you." She smiled and nodded and Tony was relieved to find that her snippiness had disappeared. "How's the pain?"

"Better now." She stretched her fingers toward him and he took her hand. "At least the nausea hasn't come back."

"Uh-huh. Next time, don't wait until it hurts enough to piss you off before you press the button."

"This is the third time I've been in the hospital taking opiates for pain in the past year. I prefer to keep the doses to a minimum."

He stood and leaned over her, whispering as the tip of his nose brushed hers, "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

"How unoriginal." She made a quick move forward to press her lips against his. The kiss pushed almost everything Abraham had said about keeping his hands off out of Tony's mind. Lips weren't hands, after all. His tongue, however, met resistance and she drew back into her pillows. "Let's not go crazy."

He sat on the edge of the bed, supporting himself on his good arm as he leaned over further. "Not even a little?"

"I may be drugged, but I'm not _that_ drugged." Her eyebrows went up invitingly. "Unless you promise to be very, _very_ gentle and keep it above the neck."

The contact he made with her lips was feather-soft. "Mmm…like that?"

"Mmmm."

He could feel her smile as he deepened the kiss, wishing he could do more but knowing that this would be the extent of their physical intimacy for a while. He enjoyed the taste, texture and sound as her responses came in light pressures and happy sighs. She eventually turned her face. He made his way along her jaw, stopping when he reached her ear. "Enough?"

"No. And yes." Her hand on the side of his face held his attention. "We just got engaged. We should be naked in a hammock on an isolated beach somewhere, but we're stuck in a hospital. I wish we could celebrate, but I…I'm sorry. I just can't."

He forced his mind off the image created by the words 'naked,' 'hammock' and 'beach' only with some effort. "Hey, it's fine. Once you're better you'll be tying me up just so you can get some sleep. I promise."

She looked at him happily. "Can I tie you up anyway?"

"Like me saying 'no' ever stopped you."

"'No' isn't the safeword."

The kiss was quickly interrupted. "Stop that! You haven't changed a goddamn bit, Tony DiNozzo."

He willed his eyes to stop popping out of his head before straightened and turned. Ziva had warned him, but he'd been hoping that avoidance would be the best medicine in this particular case. "Pam. Hi."

"Are you all right, Agent David?" Ziva nodded, but Kim had already crossed the room and was tugging Tony to the door by the shoulder of his injured arm. "She nearly died and you're in here making out with her? Does her fiancé know you're taking advantage of her while she's high on painkillers?"

"Uh, yeah," Tony said, mentally kicking himself for the unconscious surfer drawl he'd used.

"He must be either very open minded or a complete schmuck."

He finally managed to escape her grasp, yanking the tray between her and himself as he circled to the other side of Ziva's bed. She was looking at Kim curiously. "You know, I have heard someone call him a schmuck before, although I'm not sure the suspect knew the Yiddish…"

Having previously gotten the lecture while detaining the guy in question, Tony interrupted, "Yeah, maybe not the best topic to bring up right now, Ziva."

"Sorry." She giggled. "Pressed my button again by mistake."

"If you'll just let me explain," Tony tried, using what he hoped was his most disarming smile.

"You really are a schmuck." Kim made an exasperated noise. "You need to come with me before I call security."

"And why will it be necessary to call security?" Abraham stood in the door, holding a cardboard box from which a couple of sodas and various paper wrapped item were protruding. Tony wasn't sure this was the best rescue he could have hoped for. "Is there some kind of problem?"

"She wants to talk about his penis," Ziva stated, making a grab for the front of Tony's pants that caused him to step back so quickly he nearly went through the window. Her hand remained outstretched. "I'm helping. I'm not the one who keeps saying schmuck."

Tony stayed back, wondering if a fall from the second story into the medical waste dumpster below would kill him, while Abraham introduced himself to Kim, "Abraham David, I'm Ziva's father. Now, what is the issue?"

"Lt. Pam Kim. I was one of the nurses on Ziva's surgery. We'd met once before during an NCIS investigation and I just came to check on her. I entered the room and saw him kissing her. Unfortunately, I'm also acquainted with him." The way she kept spitting the word 'him' caused Tony to ready himself for impact.

"Tony…" Abraham set the box on the tray beside the empty dishes as he approached. The hand he laid on Tony's shoulder was heavy. "Did we not discuss this very subject prior to our visit? Not until she's well."

"Sorry. But it was just a little kiss…"

"Little?" Kim asked sarcastically. "You were performing a tonsillectomy!"

"Yes, Nurse Kim, and your concern is duly noted, but if you would leave our family matters to us, it will be most appreciated."

Abraham tried to usher her out the door, but she was fixed to her spot, staring at Tony. "Family matters? You're the fiancé? She's engaged to _you_?"

"Ooh, show her the ring," Ziva urged, still trying to reach him. He remained close to the window and pointed to the ring on her necklace, which was not the most likely cause for his difficulty breathing at the moment. She smiled blissfully. "We got engaged this afternoon. Then I threw up."

Kim nodded mutely and left the room without another word. Abraham indicated the box he'd brought to Tony, who reluctantly left his main escape route. The path was still clear, at least. He mumbled a thank you and unwrapped a sandwich.

"A former girlfriend?" Abraham inquired in a way that made Tony think he already knew the answer.

Ziva laughed. "Can I tell this one?"

Tony swallowed the bite in his mouth and looked at her seriously. "Cactus."

"Fine." She found the remote and turned the TV on.

Abraham chewed his food serenely, leaning back to watch the news channel Ziva had selected. Tony had reached the point where he was at ease that the little scene would go unquestioned when Abraham cleared his throat and said, "We use safewords during Moussad interrogation training between peers as well."

Tony groaned and leaned forward onto the foot of Ziva's bed, allowing his face to sink into the sheets and blanket. She poked him with her toe through the bed linens. "Are you okay?"

"My stomach…"

"I told you that you'd eaten too much."

"Oh, it's not the food."


	39. Chapter 39

A noise in her immediate vicinity caused Ziva to wake abruptly. The nurse changing the empty IV bag for a full one didn't notice until she turned and gave a little squeak. "Ooh! Miss David, you're awake! Ooh, did I wake you? I'm so sorry!"

"No, it's all right." Ziva yawned involuntarily and stretched as much as her injuries and bandages would allow. To her displeasure, she found there was no clock in the room. "What time is it?"

"Just before, ooh," she paused as she contemplated her watch, "seven, yes." The digital readout on the watch when she leaned her wrists over the guardrail read 12:57 AM. Before Ziva could question, the nurse had shoved a thermometer in her ear and continued, "Ooh, yes, I always keep my watch on local time. Zook, Kansas local time, that is. Makes for interesting conversation, I think, being able to tell people where you're from like that." She noted Ziva's temperature on a chart. "That's not bad, 99.6, considering. Down from last night, anyway."

"Mm-hmm." Ziva groped for the small handheld device that controlled her pain medication while the nurse bustled around the room, chattering away. The overnight dose she'd gotten before she'd gone to sleep was wearing off quickly.

The nurse finally turned back to Ziva. "Ooh, you must think me awfully rude not to have introduced myself!" She held out her hand with her fingers out straight and her thumb pointing up at the ceiling. "Laurie Albertson, proud nineteen year Navy nurse!" Her handshake was far too exuberant, given the circumstances. "Everyone around here always calls me Nurse Laurie! And we can just pretend I didn't already know your name from your charts and the other girls…"

"Oh…Ziva David." She nearly yanked her hand from the nurse's grasp and found what she was looking for. Whatever was in the line today didn't seem as effective as whatever she'd gotten the previous night. In fact, she didn't feel any of the welcome relief she associated with pressing the button. She tried again, but there was still nothing. "Would you please check…"

Nurse Laurie didn't stop smiling and she walked to the window and opened the drapes. "Another beautiful day! Now, Ziva, ooh, that's a pretty name. Well, as I said, I'm from Kansas. And where are you from, Miss Ziva?"

She was getting the distinct impression that Nurse Laurie wouldn't be helping her with anything medically-related and answered resignedly, "Tel Aviv."

"Is that in Arizona?"

"Israel." The lack of respite from her wonderful button was verging on alarming. "But I'm living in Washington DC right now."

"Ooh, our nation's capital!" Laurie clapped her hands together. "How exciting that must be! I've only visited once, on a field trip in the eleventh grade…"

"Laurie? Could you go check on Seaman Caldwell down the hall?" Ziva knew it was a bad sign when she felt relieved to see Pam Kim in the doorway.

"Ooh, the Texas boy! I know he wants my especial attention, but I do have other patients to attend to like the lovely Miss Ziva here. Ooh, he's a young man who might be in need of a pretty little thing like you."

"She's engaged, Laurie, and I need to do some post-op follow-up, so if you wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all, Pamie, not at all! I'll be in to check up on you real soon, Miss Ziva!" Her voice was audible as she walked down the hall, "Ziva, now, that _is_ a pretty name…"

The soliloquy was cut off and Kim shut the door. "Did she bother to reconnect your pain meds?"

"I don't think so." Ziva pressed the button a few more futile times as Kim did something invisible behind her.

"Try it now." Kim became one of Ziva's favorite people as the numbing agents found her leg, head and torso. "Better?"

"Oh yeah. Thank you."

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

Ziva didn't mind if she started performing _Hamlet_, but said only, "Sure."

"So…you feeling any better today?"

"A little."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

"Look, Agent David, the way I behaved yesterday evening was totally unprofessional and unacceptable. My issues with Tony have nothing to do with you and I shouldn't have, well, freaked out like I did. I hope you'll let me apologize."

"Don't worry about it."

"Oh. Thank you." Kim nodded vigorously, but made no move to get up.

Ziva raised the head of her bed slightly to get a better look at the woman. She seemed nervous about being there, but unwilling to leave. Ziva gave herself a few minutes to get used to the drugs in her system before asking, "Is there something else?"

"No, I just…"

"It's okay. You can ask about Tony."

Kim visibly settled down. "Yeah, Tony. I know this is really awkward, considering we don't really even know each other, but…_why_?"

"Why what?"

"Why him? I know he's charming and handsome and all that, but he's a womanizing sleaze, too. Not to be weird, but you don't strike me as the desperate type. You could do better."

"Maybe." Ziva looked out the window at the sun rising over the water. "But people change. He's not even the same man I met two years ago. He's like…an adult now. Sometimes."

Kim gave a short laugh. "Yeah, people change. I just find it hard to believe that Tony DiNozzo changed that much. You're really going to marry him?"

"Yes."

"Well…good luck, I guess." Her smile seemed sincere as she stood to leave.

A giant bouquet of flowers blocked her way. "Buenos días, mi Ziva bonita!" Tony peeked around the flowers at an angle that concealed Kim from his view. "I asked the woman at the flower shop for a line, but she's American too and that was the best she could do." He stopped halfway across the room as he finally spotted Kim. "Oh, uh, and good morning to you, too."

"Good morning. Well, I should be going. Have a nice day." Kim gave an awkward wave and left.

"What was that about?" Tony asked, leaning over for a kiss.

Ziva smiled as he sank into the chair at her bedside, still holding his bouquet. "She stopped by to apologize for being unprofessional yesterday, but I think she was really just trying to find out if I'm competent."

"To do what?" He looked around the room. "Don't they have something I can put these in?"

"Check the cabinet. And Lt. Kim seemed to think I was insane for getting involved with you."

"A-ha!" He walked to the sink to fill the pitcher he'd found. "And what did you say?"

"That you've changed since she knew you. And that I didn't have any reservations about marrying you."

"Are you just saying that because I brought flowers?" he asked with a wink, setting the bouquet on the stand next to her bed. "They bring breakfast yet?"

"No. And no." She watched him as he sat down again and leaned forward, lowering the guardrail and resting his head on his arm. She stroked his hair. "Why are you so tired?"

"Because I've been up almost all night," he replied, his voice muffled. "I'll let someone else explain it. You want some company?"

She made a move to her left, but her leg and stomach cried out in protest. "Mmgn. Not right now."

"S'okay." He yawned, nuzzling his head softly into her hip. "Wake me when breakfast gets here."

"No, you have to tell me what…fine. Nap." His contented sigh did nothing to ease her curiosity, but she continued stroking his hair without another word.

Almost an hour later, her father followed the orderly bearing a tray into the room. He didn't even bother with a greeting, going straight from ending his phone call to asking, "Has Tony explained what's happened?"

"No, he…" She looked down and noticed that he was awake. "Breakfast is here."

"Ehhx-cellent." His smile disappeared as he turned to claim the tray and saw her father. "Hey, Abraham. I thought I'd let you fill Ziva in on, uh, everything." He stared down into the scrambled eggs.

Her father sat on the edge of her bed and patted her leg. "And how are you feeling today?"

The odd exchange had been enough to fill Ziva with serious concern. "Abba, what's happened?"

"Nothing terribly serious. Small hostage situation that was easily resolved. Do not be troubled."

"Hostage situation? Where?"

"Our Embassy in Washington. As I said, easily resolved, no injuries." He took the juice from Tony's breakfast tray. "May I?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Both of you stop it! I want to know what happened!" Ziva shouted, drawing the attention of Nurse Laurie from the hall.

"Everything okay in here? Ooh, is this the lucky gentleman? And this must be your father! Well, it's a pleasure to meet all of you…"

"Perhaps later, but we have matters to discuss at the moment," her father interrupted, gently pushing Nurse Laurie out the door and closing it behind her. "Where was I?"

"Hostages?" Ziva prompted, unamused.

"Yes. Well, after leaving you last night, I had an enlightening conversation with Officers Bashan and Seir. Seir was very convincing in his assertions that he was attempting to reestablish his credibility by setting up Dmitri Tushkevich and capturing him himself, saving you and Tony in the meantime."

"You believed him?"

"Ziva, do you recall the night you snuck in through the window in the kitchen and tried to pretend you hadn't been out all night?"

She pushed the memory from her mind as soon as it arose. "I was sixteen. Seir is a trained Moussad officer who wouldn't confess after such mild interrogation techniques."

"He is easier to frighten that you ever were. He will not be returning to his post at Moussad, so the validity of his confession is neither here nor there. The important thing is we had already traced his emails attempting to turn you over in Greece. Until late last night, we had not traced the emails that set up Aharon Tal to fly the plane."

"Andrejs," she corrected. "And what happened with hostages?"

"Patience, I am getting to that. Well, we thought that, since Agent McGee was so successful in tracing our replacement of NCIS records, perhaps he could be of assistance in this case. He worked from this end while Miss Sciuto assisted our men at the Embassy. They had a breakthrough and discovered that Amos Cohen, the ambassador's personal secretary, was responsible. He was working late in the building and fled when security tried to apprehend him. He went to the guest quarters and took three hostages."

Ziva's breath caught somewhere in her throat. "Oh, God. Not Adi, Eyal and Dara?"

"Indeed. I am sure you can imagine how Officer Dagan responded. So, as I said, the situation was quickly resolved, though Mr. Cohen's survivors could seek damages. Eh, it is a non-issue." He finally drank the small glass of juice he had been holding while he had been speaking. "So, you see, all is well."

"If you say so," she muttered, rolling her eyes. Reaching out, she gave Tony a light swat on the shoulder. "And why couldn't you tell me this?"

He took his time chewing and swallowing a giant bite of toast. "I thought maybe your dad would be better at breaking this kind of news. Experience and all. Can I ask why you were sneaking through a kitchen window when you…"

"No. And we're sure that Adi and Dara are all right? And Abby? You said she was there too."

Her father answered, "Everyone but Mr. Cohen is perfectly safe and healthy. You can even call Adi later to confirm it."

"Why not now?"

"Because it is quite early in the morning in Washington right now. I do have another piece of information that should please you. The DNA confirmed that the corpse in our possession is Dmitri Tushkevich. He is most assuredly dead."

"Good," Ziva replied, wishing she didn't have so many scars to show for it.

Although his mouth was again full, she heard Tony mutter, "Finally."


	40. Chapter 40

A/n: I hadn't thought this one would go past 40 chapters, but it looks like it will be hitting at least 50 now. I need to learn how to outline or something because I think I may be writing this story for the rest of my life.

* * *

Ziva reached around Tony's neck to unclasp her necklace as he leaned into her. He took the opportunity to sneak a kiss while her father was allegedly in the men's room. As she became distracted, she lost one end of the chain, causing her ring and the charm to slide to the loose end. The Star of David caught on the clasp, but the ring slid down her hospital gown. She twitched back from his lips. "Damn it!"

Tony, unaware that anything was amiss, looked hurt. "I was having a good time."

"No, my ring…" She lifted the neck of her gown saw it caught on the white bandages wrapped around her upper abdomen. "There it…hey!"

The hand that wasn't her own gently caressed her breast. "Well, that's not a ring," Tony whispered, his hand gliding across her chest. "Am I getting hot?"

"Let's see." She slipped her arm between the guardrails on the bed and gave him a squeeze that got his attention. "I'd say tepid. If you get hot, I'm sending you to the bathroom for a…"

"Tony!"

His hand abruptly snaked back through the armhole of her hospital gown as he spun to face her father. "Okay, that was not what it looked like."

"Go get yourself a cold drink and leave me to speak with Ziva."

"Uh, well, it's only been an hour since breakfast and…"

"Tony…"

"Abraham, I…"

"Twenty minutes, Tony. I will no longer be angry with you in twenty minutes."

He took the hint, giving Ziva a sly smile before jogging out the door and down the hall. Her father closed the door. She calmly clasped her necklace before reaching down the front of her gown to get her ring. As she slipped it on her finger, she said, "I hope that wasn't what it looked like."

Her father sat in the chair Tony had been occupying before she'd asked for her jewelry back. "What? We have twenty minutes and he didn't ask any questions."

"Ends not means," she recited, automatically recalling one of his early lessons.

"Indeed. I have some photos for you."

She accepted a manila envelope. "I didn't think you were in the bathroom all this time." The photo was grainy security footage from an airport. "You found Juan."

"Yes. His passport is for Juan César Crespo. This photo was taken yesterday at Leonardo da Vinci."

"Rome. That makes sense. Was he traveling back to Argentina?"

"Look at the next photo."

"Hm." Ziva frowned at the glossy crime scene photo of a man hanging out of a dumpster, feeling something just short of regret. "I see he didn't make it."

"That is our chief problem at the moment. This man died between noon and two o'clock, but Juan César Crespo boarded a flight to Tripoli at 4:30 PM. Look at the third photo."

She gasped as she recognized the man. "This is bad."

"Dmitri threatened to sell you to Hamas, correct?"

"He never said anything about Safad." She wondered briefly if the choice of buyer were malicious coincidence or merely malicious. "Egypt…that was…that would have been a few months after Dmitri faked his death. I think that was my first time back in the field after I broke my arm in Rome. I suppose he could have found out about it, but I think it's more likely Safad came to him. The fact that I was married to Dmitri is probably better known than my involvement with the Cairo op, so Safad used it as an in with Dmitri."

"Perhaps. Our men are analyzing the data on the computers and it appears that Tushkevich had scheduled a meeting at the airport with Safad, most likely to prove he had you and to negotiate a price. They must have known Juan and killed him when he revealed what had occurred."

"But why travel on his passport?" She idly tapped the IV tube dripping yellow fluid into her left arm. "And please don't say to send a message."

"What message? And to whom? You did not know anything more than the highly useless information that his name was Juan and he was Argentine. Tony told us that Juan claimed he worked directly for Nozdryov and was with Tushkevich only as a professional courtesy to his boss. Perhaps it is for him."

"He deals with drug cartels."

"He deals in small arms and his son dealt with terrorists. It is possible they are attempting to pressure him into expanding his enterprises."

"But we're watching Nozdryov. We'll know if he makes a move."

Her father nodded and remained silent for a few moments before saying, "We're tracking him in Tripoli. Safad, I mean. He's been spotted with Sahrawi." He paused again. "They have not been seen together for some time."

"I know, Cairo," she provided. Ari had provided her with the information that had both given Moussad the terrorists' location and resulted in the capture of two NCIS agents. It had been a set-up intended to trap Moussad operatives, but they had taken the substitutes and it had looked like bad luck at the time. Ari had been unable (_unwilling_, she corrected) to tell them anything about the missing agents and the alternate source Ziva had tapped had been killed in the rescue attempt. If Dmitri had been planning to sell her to Safad and Sahrawi _and_ telling them that she was responsible for Ari's death… She made an involuntary grab for her neck. "Abba, there's something I have to tell you."

"About Cairo? You said you had included everything relevant in your report."

"No, it's…" She steeled herself, knowing that it was probably going to come out at some point during clean up of the current op. It had to be on a computer or written down somewhere. Better that it came from her. She took a deep breath and spoke in a rush, "Abba, there is no easy way to tell you this but…I killed Ari. Gibbs was trying to protect me and falsified the report, but I did it. I killed Ari."

Her father swallowed hard, took her hand and met her eyes. "I know."

She felt her lungs contract and shrink by half. "What? How?"

"Gibbs. I saw something in his eyes when I met him in Paris. I did not recognize it at once, but…everything that has happened between us in the past few months has not been a result only of my guilt over your mission with Tushkevich. This is not something you should have had to bear."

Ziva's head spun, her brain barely finding words. "Why didn't you…"

"What if I was wrong? I could not confront you with no proof. I decided that I would let you tell me on your own. It is not an easy thing, Ziva." He reached up to brush a tear from her cheek. "Can you forgive me?"

"No, I…" She was confused, her emotions and thoughts thrown into chaos by her father's calm response. "I'm supposed to ask your forgiveness. Abba, how can we…"

"Shhh. Shh." He sat on the bed and gathered her into an embrace as she broke down. "Do not think on the past. You have a wonderful future with a man who loves you. You will marry and raise a family and you will never doubt that you have taken the right course of action in all things, my brave girl."

"Ima called me that," she sniffed, for the first time feeling some of her mother's compassion in her father's embrace.

The sound of someone clearing his throat by the door interrupted them. She looked up and saw Tony. She could barely hear him as he whispered, "Ari?"

Fresh tears welled in her eyes as he nodded in response to his own question and moved silently to her other side.

* * *

Jenny walked down the hospital corridor, her step feeling lighter than it had in several days. After a late night of successful work, she'd slept late. For lunch, she'd had paella that rivaled Nohemi's. All of her agents were safe, the target was dead and she was on her way back to Washington with only one day of work technically missed. She smiled to herself; depending on what time they arrived, she could consider taking Tuesday off, especially given that almost all of Sunday night and Monday morning in Rota had been spent in teleconference resolving the situation with the Israelis. Her smile widened as she became conscious the decision was already made. Cynthia could be relied on to run interference for another day.

She started looking at the room numbers on the walls as she walked and realized she'd forgotten the one she was looking for. The sound of arguing led her to the correct room.

"I'm not asking to walk out. Even I know that's ridiculous. But can I at least get a wheelchair?"

"You have a gurney. I'm sure we could arrange for a sedative as well."

"Thank you, Abba."

Jenny walked in just in time to see Abraham lean over an empty lunch tray and kiss his daughter's forehead. "Officer Dagan has a week's furlough in Washington, so you can spend some time with Adi and little…Dara, is it?"

"You know it is. If you've got it in your head that being around the baby will make me think…"

"Whoa, there," Tony interrupted, suddenly appearing as if from thin air as he stood from a chair on the other side of the bed. "Let's not start…hey, Jenny!"

"Tony." She smiled and inclined her head as she approached the bed. From his delighted expression, she could see she'd just delayed a conversation he didn't want to have. Jenny judged from Ziva's look of smug satisfaction that she shared the feeling. "And how are you today, Ziva?"

"Oh, better. Much better now." She adjusted the bandage on her head, pushing it further from her ear and giving Jenny an odd look. "And how are you feeling today, Jen?"

"I'm doing well." Jenny tried to judge whether she was going to have to have a talk with someone about spreading gossip, but, even injured, Ziva was tough to read, especially coupled with the strange undercurrent of…Jenny couldn't decide what was really happening in the room, so she let it go. "I talked to Bethesda and they're expecting you. Ready to leave?"

"Whenever someone decides to push me out like an invalid," Ziva replied, looking pointedly at her father.

"You said yourself that walking is not an option at this point." He squeezed her hand and kissed her forehead again. "I will see you at the airfield. Tony?" He extended his hand over Ziva and Tony took it confidently. "If I get a call saying you've eloped, I will be most unhappy."

Jenny looked away for a moment as his self-assurance instantly wilted, though he continued shaking Abraham's hand. "Yes sir. Right. I mean, uh, we won't. You're the first one to get an invitation. Once we, uh, set a date and…"

"Tony, relax. I simply wish to be present at the ceremony if you decide to take a side trip to the beach before we go our separate ways for the moment."

"Don't worry, Abba," Ziva said, pulling the two men's hands apart. "I'm not getting married on a stretcher. And I want you there, so we'll give you enough time to fly to DC at the very least."

Tony looked at her in surprise. "You don't want to get married in Israel?"

"Do you want to convert?"

"Why do I have to…"

Jenny missed the rest of what was sure to be an interesting conversation as Abraham guided her out the door and into an empty room. "I was about to come find you. I'm glad you saved me the trouble." He offered her the single seat in the room, but she remained standing. He sighed and leaned against the unoccupied bed, crossing his arms loosely. "We committed a breach of trust with NCIS in our actions regarding Tony and Ziva's disappearance this weekend. I wish to repair it."

She nodded slowly. "And how do you propose to do that?"

"I am not going to apologize. Based on the intelligence we had at the time, it seemed the most prudent course of action. As it has been remedied…"

"You violated our secure database. You made it look like two people were dead to their closest co-workers and friends. You had the local NCIS team on a wild goose chase for two days. You aren't exactly rebuilding bridges, Abraham."

"These things take time, Jen. In the future, I hope that mutual cooperation between our two agencies will not be quite so problematic. Perhaps we could learn a lesson from my daughter and Tony."

Jenny balked. "Are you saying that you're using your own daughter's engagement as a tool to gain influence at NCIS?"

"Hardly." His voice was not nearly as cold as his gaze and she understood she'd crossed a line. "I would not dream of such a thing. It was merely an example of where cooperation can lead." He cleared his throat and returned to his normal tone. "As a show of good faith," he said, handing her a flash drive. "Pictures taken yesterday in Tripoli."

She inspected the small piece of plastic, as if the photos contained in the inner circuitry were visible on the case. "What is this?"

"Cairo, 2003. I believe you have a…score to settle?"

Jenny looked away, but forced herself not to close her eyes. She knew what she would see if she did. The rank smell of rot and sewage was already threatening to overcome her. She focused on the sterile white tile of the hospital room floor and concentrated on the present. "What, exactly, did Ziva tell Moussad about that?"

"Everything, naturally," Abraham answered. "She was forced to compromise an invaluable source when she dragged you out of that basement. Would you have preferred to join the unfortunate operatives previously confined there?"

"They were still there," she spat, seeing the pile of corpses in various states of decomposition in the corner even though her eyes were still open. Her partner, Curtis Lavoie, had been murdered with a bullet through his head within hours of their being captured while performing surveillance on a suspected terrorist cell. His dead eyes had stared at her for three horrific days before the sound of shooting and an explosion above had immediately preceded Ziva crashing down the stairs with two assault rifles, blowing a hole in the wall with enough C-4 to disturb the foundation and half-carrying Jenny through a fetid sewer line to safety.

During the escape, Jenny had tried repeatedly to go back for her partner's body. She had been insistent to the point that Ziva had intentionally walked her into a pipe to stun her. Jenny rubbed her head, easily finding the small scar under her hair. She'd always found it odd that the only outward evidence of the entire experience was a reminder of her rescue. It was probably for the best – thinking about the tasers and psychological torture always led to the memory that Curtis was still there, unburied in a wrecked basement thousands of miles from home.

A choking sob escaped her throat and she was fairly certain that Abraham was not fooled by the cough with which she tried to cover it. "Why are you bringing this up?"

"The men who captured and tortured you have resurfaced, as I said, yesterday. We have been tracking them, but will gladly hand the operation over to NCIS. I would suggest that my men remain involved as they are familiar with the leading men's movements, but it is your prerogative."

"This is a hell of a thing to spring on a person, Abraham." She wracked her brain, trying to remember which NCIS teams were in or near Libya.

"If you do not want the…"

"I want it," she stated firmly, planting her feet and looking him in the eye.

Abraham nodded and walked to the door. "I will inform my men to cede operational control to NCIS when your people arrive in no more than three days. We'll give whatever assistance we can offer, Jen. Shalom."

Jenny was thankful that he closed the door firmly behind him.


	41. Chapter 41

A/n: My bad. When I uploaded I should have included a warning, but I forgot. Apologies if you ran smack dab into the **M rated content**. I don't think it's too graphic, but still, fair warning that it's there before the first break.

* * *

After Abraham and Jenny left the room, Tony counted to three in his head, carefully slipping his arm out of the sling. He tiptoed to the door and closed it softly. He'd been waiting for some time alone with Ziva ever since he'd returned from his mini-banishment to find her crying and hugging her father. When he turned back to her, he smiled.

She regarded him seriously. "No."

His smile faded slightly as he returned to the bedside. "You don't even know what I'm thinking."

"Yes I do. And I'm telling you that the answer is no. Or cactus, if you prefer."

"Ziva, if you've ever been in need of some lovin', it's right now." He ignored her further objections as he stole the handset that controlled the elevation of the bed and lowered the head so she was lying down. He settled himself on the bed beside her, being careful to keep his weight on his own hip and shoulder. "Just give me a second…"

"Watch the tubes!"

"I got it. Don't worry." He disentangled the IV tubes caught around his head, rested his arm across her waist and nuzzled her neck. "And relax. By lovin' I mean, of course, chaste snuggling of the non-ninja variety."

"Oh." She adjusted his arm across her body down slightly, but didn't push it off. "Well, if you're not expecting much…"

"Hm." He kissed her neck, working his way up to the side of her face. His expectations were undoubtedly different than she assumed. Things had become oddly normal in the room less than half an hour after she'd told her father about Ari, and Tony was concerned about it. Although he was perfectly willing to subscribe to the generally male stereotype of 'feelings, blah,' he didn't think it was healthy for two people of that persuasion to have too many weights hanging in the air between them. And since she wasn't saying anything… He bit the bullet. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"What?"

"What do you think?"

"I'm fine."

In spite of the serene smile that accompanied the assertion, Tony was unconvinced. He was going to have to get more specific. "Ziva, a few hours ago you told your father…"

"He already knew," she interrupted.

Tony propped himself up on his elbow, ready to leap out of the bed to find Abraham the moment she confirmed what she'd just said. "He _what_?"

"Well, he suspected, but for him it's pretty much the same thing. He…"

"He's just been hiding this from you? That son of a…"

She cut him off with a hostile, "Don't."

Even with a large white bandaged wrapped around her head and surrounded by hospital equipment, he had no uncertainty that she would carry through with the threat in her voice. He was angry but not stupid. He sank back to his spot at her side little by little. "I was just saying…"

"And I'm asking you not to. My father and I have resolved the issue and it's not something I want to talk about ad nauseam." Her nose touched his as she turned her head to face him. "If you have questions of your own, I'll answer honestly. This isn't something you should have learned from Dmitri."

He moved forward to kiss her lips. "You explained it to me. It get that it's not a trust thing."

"It is. You had a personal stake in Ari's death. Would things have been different when I joined the team if you'd known? Would things between us have taken so long to get to this point?"

"Would I have been so distracted by watching the super ninja who killed the big bad terrorist that I drove the truck off the road, killing you, me and McGee in the process?"

She contracted her brow into his favorite 'Pshht, the hell?' expression. "That makes no sense."

"Yeah, just like discussing what would have happened if something different had happened when we met. Anyway, aside from the fact that we're in a hospital _again_, I think things have worked out pretty well." He kissed her again, pressing his left arm into the mattress as he slipped it under her shoulders to embrace her and pull her closer. He drew back just enough to ask, "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No."

"If you ever do want to talk, y'know…"

"I know." Her fingers unexpectedly made gentle contact with his zipper. "Since we're here…I shouldn't do this, but I promised myself you'd get a thank you for taking such good care of me through this." He groaned as her hand found its way through fabric to skin. "Mmm, I thought you were getting a little excited. This ends immediately if you start humping my leg."

He nodded, taking a few deep breaths as he buried his face in her neck and willing himself to remain still as the cooler air in the room hit him. "Yeah, we really aren't supposed to be doing stuff like this, in the hospital and after your dad said…"

"Stop thinking with the big head," she whispered, doing something with her fingertips that inspired him to start sucking her skin where her neck and shoulder met. "Mmm, I thought you'd like that."

"Uhhhgn…if we get caught…" He didn't bother completing the thought, reaching the point where he really didn't care. "Mmm, Ziva."

"Close?"

"Mm hmm," he hummed happily into her skin, increasing his suction. "Mmmmm."

"That was quick."

"Not done yet. Uhng…wait…oh, ahhhhh," he moaned softly with contented release. After a moment, he said, "I promise I won't be that fast for you."

"At least not the second or third time."

"Hey, I'm looking at a few lonely weeks before we can…" He paused in a sudden panic as he heard the door open, snapping his hips into a sharper angle to try to hide himself. "Oh, God, please don't kill me."

"The plane leaves in an hour. Goodbye." Instead of Abraham's fury, he peeked over his shoulder to see a flash Jenny's utter indifference before she left as quickly as she'd come.

"That was weird," he said, grinning as he turned back to Ziva, who now wore a worried expression. "What?"

"Get me the phone." She gave him a gentle shove off the bed.

"Hey, give me a second to get decent."

"Now, Tony!" she commanded, raising the head of the bed to a sitting position.

"Yeah, okay." He hastily buttoned and zipped his pants. "What's the rush?"

"Just get me the phone!" After a glance at her lap, she added, "And a fresh blanket from the cabinet."

* * *

Gibbs drummed his fingers on the table in the base's small outdoor café, leaning back in his seat and pretending to pay attention as McGee enumerated the technical details of the search that had led to the capture of Tushkevich's accomplice in the Israeli Embassy. Fortunately, the coffee was good enough to warrant another hour of sitting and listening, at which time their plane would be ready to depart and McGee would have either finished his account or developed laryngitis. Gibbs sipped his coffee, suspecting it would be the latter.

As he set his empty cup down and signaled the waitress for a refill, his phone, sitting on the table, began to buzz. He sighed as he didn't recognize the number on the caller ID. McGee was looking at him expectantly. "Aren't you going to answer that?"

"Yup. Just want to make sure my coffee is on the way. If it's a telemarketer, I want something around to keep me calm."

"I didn't think they were allowed to call on our NCIS cell phones."

"We'll see." He answered the phone with a wink at the waitress and her silver urn, "Gibbs."

"You have to find Jen."

He sat up in his chair. "Ziva, what's wrong?"

"I can't discuss it over the phone, but you need to find her and make sure she's on the flight back to Washington with us. I don't care if you have to tie her up and carry her onto the plane…"

"Whoa, slow down. Why wouldn't she be flying back?"

"Something's come up and I think…look, just find her and get her on the damn plane, Gibbs."

"Are you hopped up on drugs again or did someone promote you and not tell me?"

"This isn't a joke. Find her. Knock her out if you have to, but do not let her talk you into letting her stay here."

"Ziva, I can't assault the Director unless you give me a damn good reason, so you better start talking."

"Gibbs! Listen! I can't explain over the phone. Just find her. I don't want her doing something stupid. And remind her that she can run an op just as easily from MTAC."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Ziva sounded in control. Additionally, she was giving orders, something he knew she wouldn't do unless the situation necessitated it. He took a long sip of hot coffee and made his decision. "Okay, we'll find her. Have you seen her lately?"

"She was in my hospital room less than five minutes ago."

Gibbs dropped a few bills on the table, regretting that he had no euro, and picked up his small bag. "Isn't DiNozzo with you?"

"Yes."

He beckoned McGee behind him as he crossed a street, walking in the direction of the hospital. "Then why don't you just send him after her?"

"Well, I…honestly? I don't think she's going to listen to anyone but you right now. Or me, possibly, but I'm not walking anywhere."

"You clearly have a telephone." He increased his pace as he caught a fleeting glimpse of someone who looked an awful lot like Jen on a parallel street. "Call her."

"If she'd picked up, would I be calling you?"

"Once I do this, we're gonna have a little chat about respecting your superiors, Officer David." He held up his hand in thanks as a truck stopped to allow him to jog across the street.

"We can chat about whatever you want, just…"

"I see her. We'll meet you at the airfield." He snapped the phone shut, breaking into a run, much to the consternation of McGee behind him. When he was a few steps away, he shouted, "Jen! Hey, Jen!"

She turned and he was struck by the haunted look on her face. "Jethro."

"Headed back to get your stuff?"

"Something like that."

Her preternatural calm coupled with her glazed, red-rimmed eyes told him that Ziva probably hadn't been overreacting. "Well, I'll walk over with you. McGee?"

The agent's panting wasn't an aid to serious conversation. "Yeah, boss?"

"Why don't you head over to the hospital and catch a ride to the airfield with Tony and Ziva."

"Um…okay?" Gibbs didn't give him any further details, sending him off with an annoyed glare. "Yeah, boss. See you at the airfield. And you, Director."

Gibbs watched him walk up the street before turning and taking a few rapid strides to catch up to Jen. He allowed her to speak first, "Is there some reason you and Agent McGee were chasing me down like a suspect?"

"I got a phone call. Ziva asked me to find you and make sure that you make it to the plane."

Jen nodded. "And what else did Officer David share with you?"

He didn't react to the venom in her tone. "No details. She was just concerned that you might not be flying back with us. Oh, but she did ask me to remind you that you can run an op from MTAC. You wanna tell me what's goin' on?"

"No."

"So I should find a secure line and call Ziva back? Because I got the feeling that the open connection was the only thing holding her back from answering my questions about why I had to get you on our flight home no matter what."

"She's not in charge any…" She stopped at the door of the building where they had been quartered. "I'm the Director of NCIS and if I think my involvement in an op being conducted by my agency is appropriate, that is _my_ prerogative."

"What op?" When she didn't answer, he pulled the door open and followed her in. "Jen, you gotta tell me what's going on here. Ziva was concerned to the point where she told me knock you out and carry you onto the plane. And the way you're acting makes me think I might do it."

She gave a heavy sigh. "Let me get my things and we'll walk over to the airfield."

"It's two miles, Jen. Are you planning to explain on the way?"

"No. But we'll be at the airfield at least."


	42. Chapter 42

McGee looked over his shoulder a few times as he walked down the sidewalk, but, as he'd never heeded Abby's recommendation that he learn to read lips, the glances were basically wasted. He could always just ask Ziva why she'd made a random phone call that required running down the Director. And possibly attacking her, if Gibbs hadn't been joking with that part. McGee adjusted the strap of his laptop case on his shoulder and picked up his pace.

He knew he shouldn't have expected the trip to have a normal resolution. He'd flown across the Atlantic with two tipsy superiors to sit in a building while the case resolved without them and solved a case back home instead. All he needed for the trip to be improbably complete was to elope with a stranger. He made himself a promise to hit on the next woman he saw. The rush of cool air that hit him as he walked through the front door of the hospital was refreshing enough to remind him that maybe it would be wisest to have McGregor hit on a character resembling the next woman he saw.

The correction turned out to be a prudent one as he saw only men on his walk through the halls. Exiting the stairwell outside the ICU, from which Ziva had not been moved despite her improving condition, he reflected that it was going to be awkward to write a scene between McGregor and Moussad Officer Lisa. He took a deep breath as he rounded the corner, wondering where all the nurses were; there had to be one woman on this floor to save McGregor from a bloody nose.

An unfamiliar feminine voice coming from Ziva's room gave him hope until he got close enough to make out the words. "No, no, no, you, ooh, you scoundrel! Young people these days! Ooh, just because you gave her a ring doesn't mean you're free to have your way with her! Ooh!"

He entered to see Tony in a corner hiding behind a pillow while a middle-aged nurse tried to hit him with a telephone book. He tried to protest as he dodged the blows, "I didn't…hey! She started it! I just wanted to cuddle and she got grabby!"

Ziva smiled and gave McGee a wave, motioning him over. The odd confrontation went on with no acknowledgement of his presence. He watched the scene for another moment before asking Ziva, "Do I want to know what started this?"

She grinned. "I needed a new blanket."

"And…" he prompted, knowing that he would probably regret asking in the first place; she had the same drug-addled look she'd had when he'd looked in on her the previous night.

"Well, I asked Tony to get one from the cabinet and he couldn't find one so he asked Nurse Laurie for a new one. She insisted on collecting the other one herself and…remember your little problem in the elevator?"

He involuntarily wiped his hand on his pants with a shiver. "Yeah, thanks for bringing that up. Wait, are you saying…you guys were…you're well enough for that?"

"Don't be silly, McGee. Tony was holding me and I noticed that he was…" she trailed off and gave him her 'it's more shocking if I let him imagine it' look. "Are details really important?"

He frowned as the unwelcome and unsolicited details flooded his mind. "No thanks."

"Heh. Well, anyway, Nurse Laurie had an experience similar to yours, only with the blanket instead of an elevator and…" she waved her hand in a bored way at Tony and the nurse in the corner, still shouting but no longer hitting, "this has been going on since I got off the phone with Gibbs. Thank God for the button."

She was trying to show him small device, but the mention of Gibbs reminded McGee of what had sent him to Ziva's room. "Why did you call him and have us chasing the Director?"

She pursed her lips, seeming to take a moment to come back to herself. "Maybe you should try rescuing Tony."

"Ziva, I'm not stupid. If you can't answer the question, say so, but don't try to distract me."

"It's nothing personal, Tim. It's about something that happened on a mission Jen and I were involved in a few years back and I don't think I should be revealing anything without…proper clearance."

He considered the possibilities. He knew that Ziva and the Director had worked anti-terrorism ops in Europe, but that didn't exactly limit the pool of options. It couldn't hurt to go fishing. "Is this about someone who…"

"Probie!" McGee looked toward the corner as Tony interrupted when finally noticing his presence. "A little help?"

The awareness that someone else was in the room seemed to snap the nurse out of her frenzy. "Ooh, dear! I don't know what came over me! Ooh, I've made a bit of a fool of myself." She dropped the phone book on the chair and extended her hand, which McGee took reluctantly; Ziva hadn't mentioned which hand the nurse had picked up the blanket with. "Ooh, I'm Nurse Laurie and I'm afraid you aren't catching me in my finest hour."

"Oh, we all feel like doing that to Tony sometimes." He tugged his hand back before he realized he hadn't introduced himself. "Oh, sorry. Tim McGee."

Tony smirked as he sat on the edge of the bed, holding his pillow tightly against his chest in case of a repeated onslaught. "You may know him as Thom E. Gemcity."

Nurse Laurie's expression became exultant as recognition lit up her features. "_Deep Six_! Oooh! _Deep Six_!" She threw herself into McGee, wrapping him in a tight hug.

He tried to play it cool as Tony and Ziva began to snicker, patting the nurse on the back and saying, "Yes, so I take it you've read the book?"

"Ooh, it was wonderful!" she replied enthusiastically, releasing him from the hug but seizing his face with his cheeks between her hands. "I should have recognized your handsome face right away from the back cover! Ooh, wait here!" She had run out of the room before he could agree.

As he turned toward his laughing colleagues to defend himself, a pillow hit him in the face. Ziva burst into even louder laughter as Tony said, "Didn't damage your handsome face, did I?"

"Come on, you guys. She's just a fan."

"Uh-huh. And what do you think, Moussad Officer Lisa?"

Ziva smiled, pawing at his face. "I hope there's limit on these self-dosing drugs."

Tony took the device she'd been showing to McGee from her hand. "You be good. Your impulse control isn't great without drugs and McGee took my security pillow."

"You threw it at me!" McGee protested.

"You could have thrown it back!"

"Pillow fight!" Ziva giggled, now yawning widely and attempting to pull Tony down toward her. "It's like a slumber party!"

He carefully pried her fingers loose from his collar, looking nervously at the door. "Uh-huh, and maybe you should go to sleep for a little while." McGee turned away, but he could still see Tony gently stroking Ziva's cheek in his peripheral vision. He whispered, "You are getting very sleepy. You are heavily medicated. You will close your eyes and go to sleep."

McGee watched in fascination as she gave a few weak murmurs of protest before her eyes closed and her head dropped to the side. Tony looked up in triumph. "Who's working the Jedi mind tricks now, Probie?"

"What do you…"

"Abby mentioned how you guys think Ziva has me on a short leash." McGee fought off some more unwanted images as Tony continued, "It's just a matter of seeing how big a dose she's got in her system. Last night I told her she'd fall asleep when I snapped my fingers and it totally worked. She woke up about ten minutes later, but, hey, I'm new to this total control thing." He moved the phone book from the chair to the floor and sat, propping his legs on the frame of the bed. "When she wakes up she'll be disoriented and make some crazy threats about replacing our livers with porterhouse steaks."

They didn't have to wait long, as Ziva woke on Nurse Laurie's noisy reentry, muttering something about electrodes. She almost immediately dozed off again, leaving the nurse free to grill McGee about his next book and obtain a personalized autograph on the copy of _Deep Six_ she'd brought back with her. As much as he enjoyed discussing his work, even McGee was glad when two EMTs arrived twenty minutes later to escort the small group of NCIS agents to the airfield.

Nurse Laurie followed him to the end of the ward, brandishing her signed book and promising to buy the sequel as soon as it was published, much to Tony's amusement. In the back of the ambulance with the still dozing Ziva, he said, "Congratulations. You've got one guaranteed sale. Are your main characters going to get free copies of this one?"

"Have you even finished reading _Deep Six_ yet?"

"I'm working on it. So are you using my idea in the next book?"

"What idea?" McGee grudgingly asked, unsure if he wanted to hear any more suggestions at the moment. Unaware of the connection between the people in the book and the ones in the room, Nurse Laurie had gone on at length over what a perfect couple Tommy and Lisa would make if they had the chance. Additionally, at some point in the past Tony had already supplied some random ideas that McGee could recall. "The one where Agent Tommy is kidnapped by sex-crazed Amazons or the one where he goes undercover in a terrorist cell made up of former harem girls? Or is it a new one involving Tommy and Lisa…"

"Ssh. You're gonna get me in trouble." He gave Ziva a poke in the arm to find out if she were still sleeping before raising his voice to a normal level, "I meant my line for Tibbs. Some dirtbag gives him lip during an interrogation and he comes out with, 'They call me MISTER Tibbs!' Good, huh?"

"I think it would technically be plagiarism."

"No, it's an homage! C'mon, even you know that's from _In the Heat of the Night_."

"Now _that_ is a good movie," Ziva chimed in, opening her eyes.

She and Tony teamed up pick on McGee in what he told himself was a good-natured way until the rear doors of the ambulance opened at the airfield. The Director stood on the tarmac, her icy stare fixed on Ziva. "I need to speak privately with Officer David." She climbed into the back of the ambulance, slamming the doors closed behind her, barely giving Tony and McGee a chance to get out.

The EMTs looked at their vehicle curiously. One of them eventually asked, "Should we just wait?"

"Oh yeah," Gibbs supplied, handing the men two cups of coffee.

McGee looked fretfully at the ambulance, hoping the Director hadn't stepped on his laptop, which he'd forgotten in the rush to clear the small space. "Um, do you know what they're talking about in there, boss?"

"No idea, McGee. Is Ziva armed, DiNozzo?"

McGee wasn't terribly surprised when Tony answered, "She's got a little Glock in a thigh holster on her right. Her dad thinks the same way you do with get-well gifts. You don't think she'll need it? Do you, boss? I mean, it's Jenny…"

"Uh-huh. But I've never seen Jen that quiet before. Better safe than sorry."


	43. Chapter 43

Jenny settled herself silently on the seat closest to the head of the gurney in the rear compartment on the ambulance. Ziva watched her fleetingly, with a glance that flitted around the small space. She remained mute as Ziva closed her eyes.

Jenny appreciated the time to think. She wasn't exactly sure what she wanted to ask. A full recap of the events that had occurred in Cairo was not something she wanted to hear, but she did want to find out if anyone else had gotten even a hint of it. Gibbs had said Ziva hadn't shared information due to the open phone line; it was entirely possible he knew everything and didn't want to bring it up for fear of upsetting her and not accomplishing his goal. Jenny took a deep breath and asked, "What did you tell Gibbs?"

Ziva didn't answer immediately, her eyes remaining closed. When Jenny reached out to touch her shoulder, she twitched and opened her eyes. "What?"

"Were you asleep?" she asked incredulously.

"Sorry. Were we talking? I promise you weren't being boring, I just have a lot of…"

Jenny cut her off, "Ziva, please. Just tell me what you told Gibbs."

She shrugged. "That I was concerned you wouldn't be coming back with us. That he had to talk you out of doing something stupid."

Jenny crossed her arms over her chest. "Let's try this again, Officer David." She had spent twenty-five minutes on the walk to the airfield ignoring Gibbs' looks of curiosity tinged with something else – something that may have been pity. Or disappointment. She couldn't spend six hours on a plane with him looking at her like that if he knew what Ziva knew. "You are going to tell me everything that you shared with Gibbs."

The level gaze Ziva fixed on her didn't have any of her normal determination behind it. "I didn't tell him about the mission."

Jenny looked skeptically at her. "What _did_ you tell him?"

"I already told you."

"You gave me some vague statements. Gibbs doesn't respond to vague statements."

"If you repeat them loudly enough he clearly does."

"Ziva…"

"He responds to specific instructions if he trusts you. He could tell I was worried, so he did what I asked without knowing the exact reason. I didn't tell him about the mission and I didn't tell him about Agent Lavoie."

* * *

"Boss, you think we should…"

"No."

"But it's been over five minutes."

"You can handle a few more minutes away from her, DiNozzo. Get used to it. Do you think I'm gonna let the two work together all the time when we get back?"

"It's not that. I just think it's been awfully quiet."

"Yeah. And? No gunshots is a good thing."

"But what about knives? Knives are quiet."

"Did someone give Ziva a knife?"

"I didn't _give_ it to her. She stole it from my pocket while I was, uh, distracted."

"I'm sure. Fortunately, we all know how well Ziva can defend herself on the off chance that Jen really does do something stupid. Stop worrying. McGee will be back with more coffee in a minute."

* * *

Jenny swallowed hard at the mention of her late partner's name. No amount of therapy had been able to relieve the shiver that always accompanied his memory. She wanted to remember him; she just didn't want everyone to know about it. "You didn't mention Curtis?"

"I didn't mention him. Or anything else, really." Ziva stared at her own fingers as she raised them in succession, listing, "Cairo, the basement, the mission, Hamas… Do you remember Rome?"

Jenny started at the unexpected question. As much as she wanted to find out exactly what Ziva had revealed, she wasn't disinclined to a distraction, and talking about the six months she and Ziva had spent taking out the Molot was as good an excuse as any to get off the topic of the Cairo incident. "What about it?"

"I fell off a roof and broke my arm."

"I know." Jenny smiled in spite of herself. "I was about to climb the drain pipe to join you up there when you landed on that guy on the Vespa. Now that I think about it, when you went flying you looked like Tony going into the elephant yard."

"Mmm, Tony," she sighed happily, twisting her new ring around her finger and smiling at it contentedly. She finally continued, "You were mad that I wouldn't go to the hospital. You told me I was being stubborn and stupid, but you knew you couldn't force me. Remember what happened next?"

"We shot the Praskov brothers."

"In the _conversation_, Jen." Ziva reached out and grabbed her hand. "We started arguing about revenge. Then you got all girly. You apologized to me, but not for the whole whiny hospital speech. You said that you wished you really did want to stop me and make me put myself before the mission. You said that if our roles were reversed, you knew I'd have the balls to stop you from doing something when you weren't thinking clearly because your luggage was in the way."

"Baggage," Jenny corrected automatically, her mind somewhere in the past, listening to the conversation she'd forgotten. "You told me you would have no problem protecting me from myself if you had to."

"Well, I had to borrow Gibbs' balls temporarily, but that's what I was doing. I didn't tell him anything beyond what I told you I told him. Please, Jen, don't go after these guys yourself. At least not until I can be there to back you up."

"And knock me unconscious?"

"You weren't being rational."

"I know." Jenny took a moment to reflect. She wasn't ready for another three days in a basement with corpses for company and interrogations that weren't about questions. "You know, honestly? I hadn't made a decision yet. I'm even considering talking to your father about leaving the mission with Moussad."

"Now you're lying."

"Only about the last part." She smiled. "Thank you, Ziva."

"Anytime."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments until Jenny asked, "Did you really just say you had to borrow Gibbs' balls?"

* * *

"You hear that?"

"Sounds like laughing, DiNozzo. Shall we bust down the door to ask what's so funny?"

"No, I just…"

"Think they're talking about you?"

"Uh, _now_ I do. Thanks, boss."

"Don't try to look through the window. They'll be done when they're done. Didn't you even think to ask Ziva why she was calling me to hunt down the Director?"

"I thought to. I just didn't get the chance."

"Because you were…_distracted_?"

"No, because the nurse was hitting me with the telephone book."

"I know better than to ask for an explanation on that one."

"That's why you're the boss, boss."

* * *

Jenny had no trouble controlling her laughter as Ziva became serious again. "Even if we do get involved in a mission related to Safad and Sahrawi, no one at NCIS going to find out about Cairo from me. You know I don't just give out information."

"I know, but you haven't been in this type of situation before. You really didn't even say anything to Tony? What does he know?"

"A lot about movies and where to touch me."

The non sequitur seemed to confirm what Jenny had suspected for only the last few minutes. "Are you still on painkillers?"

"Oh, yeah," Ziva said with a wide smile. "Lotta drugs. Lotta lotta drugs. They gave me a button."

Jenny stood, hunching her back to prevent her head from hitting the ceiling in the small compartment. "Well, that's a nice guarantee you won't say anything inappropriate."

"I've been saying inappropriate things all my life," Ziva replied with a wink. "Just because I don't care what I'm saying doesn't mean I don't know what I'm saying. Want to try my button?"

"Won't that just increase your meds?"

Ziva nodded enthusiastically. "It's like when you go to the bar with a preset limit in your head, but when you reach that limit you're at the point where you don't think another three will hurt? They shouldn't have given me the button." She yawned. "Where's Tony?"

"He's probably on the plane by now. I suppose we should go."

"You just want to get back to being dictator."

"Director," Jenny corrected, glancing back to see that Ziva was still smiling.

"I already told you I know what I'm saying."


	44. Chapter 44

Tony tensed as the ambulance shifted ever so slightly. Someone was moving around inside. He decided it had to be Jenny; there'd be more lurching if Ziva were trying to walk at this point. Not that she'd let her serious leg wound coupled with her other injuries stop her… He took an involuntary step forward as the door swung out.

"Thanks, Tony," Jenny said with a smile, using his shoulder as a brace as she leaped down. Whatever had occurred inside the vehicle had apparently been far less exciting than he'd imagined. Of course, his non-violence-related mental image had also expanded to include some mud and bikinis.

"Oh, sure," he mumbled as Jenny, Gibbs hot on her heels, walked toward the plane that had arrived on the tertiary runway while she'd been sequestered in the ambulance with Ziva. Tony didn't have much time to think about what had happened, as he was distracted by the look Ziva was giving him as she beckoned him toward her. Something about whatever she was on was affecting her judgment in ways that could get him in serious trouble. Saying no to her wasn't a task he relished. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, contemplating his options and rubbing a sore spot on his head where the binding of the phone book had struck him. Ziva pouted as he hesitated.

Making his decision, he shot a glance and a smirk over his shoulder, catching an eye-roll from McGee. McGee, however, wasn't the man he was looking for. Gibbs was already climbing the gangway of the jet, but he wasn't too worried about Gibbs either. Tony turned in a circle, surveying the entire airfield. After confirming that Abraham hadn't arrived at to see them off yet, he scrambled into the back of the ambulance, tugging the door shut in the faces of the two paramedics waiting to carry Ziva onto the plane. "What happened with Jenny? Everything okay?"

"Mm hmm." She nodded and continued the movement of her index finger, motioning him closer.

Knowing it was a mistake, he leaned over. "We can't really…" His assessment was confirmed when she cut him off by grabbing his head and pulling him down into a fierce kiss. He pulled away only after some careful struggling. Sinking onto the narrow bench seat along the wall, he took a moment to catch his breath. "So, you missed me?"

The cramped space gave her the advantage as her hand started on his knee and slid up his thigh. "You were gone a long time."

He tried to push back, but the solid metal wall kept him within her reach. "It was only ten or fifteen minutes."

"So?" Her fingers traced light circular patterns on the fabric of his pants, causing the hairs on his legs to stand up. She pulled her hand back as he reached for it. "You don't want me to stop. And maybe you could…" His eyes went very wide as she continued in a whisper. Raising her voice, she concluded, "What do you think?" 

After taking a moment to compose himself, he replied, "I think I'll be happier once you're off the drugs."

"Oh, I doubt that."

"Well, less nervous, at least." He suddenly cried out at the doors opened, revealing Abraham.

His expression was amused. "Why so jumpy, Tony? Are you doing something you should not be?"

"We were just talking," he protested, not liking the way Abraham was knowingly and somewhat disapprovingly staring at him. "We, uh, should probably get on the plane."

"Indeed. Perhaps a different environment will prevent further, hm…now what kind of insect do you suppose left the mark on my daughter's neck?"

Tony swallowed hard as he spotted the hickey he'd given her in the hospital just before the weirdness had commenced. "Well, uh, it, uh, could have, I suppose, uh…"

Ziva interrupted him with a smile, "Aw, my Abba thinks you're a bug. I think…octopus."

"Was I unclear about this, Tony?" Abraham stepped to the side to allow him to step down from the back of the ambulance and the paramedics to pull her gurney out.

"No. On that you were crystal clear." He flashed back to inside the vehicle a few minutes previously. She would most likely stop the teasing after the drugs were out of her system, so that could make it a little easier to resist her. Still, this was going to be a very long few weeks. For entirely physical reasons, he wished he'd held off on the proposal. He sighed with resignation. "I won't let it happen again."

Abraham reached out to shake his hand. "I know you love her, Tony. Continue to take care of her."

"I will."

"I know. Your suitcases that we recovered from Tushkevich's house have just been delivered and are there, by the plane. Agent McGee was kind enough to carry one. Perhaps you should bring the other aboard."

"Is that my hint to leave you two alone?"

Abraham smiled, squeezing his shoulder. "Shalom, Tony."

"Shalom," he replied, sidestepping a playful grab from Ziva as he made his way to the waiting jet. The suitcase seemed heavy as he ascended the steps. 

Jenny, Gibbs and McGee all looked at him as he entered the cabin. Gibbs was standing at a small counter near the front bulkhead fiddling with a coffee urn. "You gonna want any of this, DiNozzo?" 

"Uh…"

"There's enough for us all to have a few cups over the course of the flight."

"Oh, well, maybe, I guess."

Gibbs gave him an annoyed glance. "Ziva going to be joining us?"

"In a minute. Uh…" He peered out the window to see Abraham hand Ziva a cell phone. "She's with her dad, making a phone call, apparently."

Tony accepted the hot paper cup that Gibbs shoved into his hand almost hard enough to spill the contents. "Why?"

"Gibbs, he doesn't know anything," Jenny replied, joining the conversation. "Ziva isn't talking and neither am I, so leave it alone. If we get to a point where you need to know, you'll know."

"The least you can do is tell me if it's going to require unscheduled international flights," he muttered audibly, making his way to an isolated seat in the rear of the cabin.

Jenny shook her head and pointed to an unoccupied seat near her. "The pilot said they're hooking Ziva's gurney up beside that seat."

Tony sank into the cushioned leather and stretched his feet out, trying to push the vague notion of another mission out of his head. "Not bad. I'm liking all this private jet travel. All we need to do is not get kidnapped on the way home and we're golden."

"Shocking anyone would want to kidnap you once, DiNozzo, much less twice in one week."

He spun his chair toward the back wall. "Technically, boss, they were after Ziva. I was just the booby prize."

"Uh-huh." Gibbs glowered into his coffee.

Tony leaned over and whispered to Jenny, "Can't you make up some crazy lie to appease him?"

"And wait for the shit to hit the fan when and if he finds out? It's much better to just remain quiet. They didn't make me Director for my poor decision making skills."

"This from the woman who made a hobby of lying to the CIA the last time we got involved with Tushkevich."

"Watch it, Tony. You don't have the 'I'm on drugs' excuse working for you."

"So…whatever you and Ziva were conspiring about may involve the rest of us?"

"It's doubtful, but not outside the realm of possibility. Now stop fishing." She sipped her coffee and rotated her chair slightly. "So tell me, McGee – does the Director have a bigger role in the new novel?"

His lips parted in shocked surprise. "Um, do you want her to?"

Jenny didn't have time to contemplate the question (one which Tony could have answered with no indecision – Run. Run from the spawn of _Deep Six_.) as the paramedics carried Ziva into the plane. She seemed like she'd come down a little. He twined his fingers with hers as the two men secured the gurney beside him. "Okay?"

She nodded distractedly. "I spoke to Adi. She says hi."

"Everything okay with her?"

"Hm."

Tony bit his lip, unsure of what to ask next. Abraham had told them about the brief hostage situation at the Israeli Embassy in Washington, but he hadn't given it a second thought after hearing it had been resolved quickly and easily. Adi, however, had probably been thinking of nothing else. He stroked the back of Ziva's hand with his thumb. "Well, you two will have some time to chat, at least. Didn't your dad say she's staying in DC for a week?"

"Yes, but…can you do that thing where you pretend to hypnotize me and I pretend to go to sleep? I don't really want to think about it right now and if I close my eyes long enough I may actually get some sleep."


	45. Chapter 45

_From her seat across the bullpen, Lisa stared at Tommy, asleep at his desk. He looked like a child who had exhausted himself with too much playtime, but deep down, she knew he was a man. Her heart fluttered at the memory of their last night together._

McGee caught himself just short of penning a sensually worded flashback and drew a line through the last two sentences he'd handwritten. The worst part about traveling was the lack of his typewriter. He had tried using his laptop, but the soft clicking of the keys had sounded all wrong. He should have expected that; it never worked for him in the coffee shop either. The pen and paper were the best he could do, but he missed the classic feel of his Remington.

Ziva had once asked him how he managed to type on a shotgun. It was for the best that he wasn't using it at the moment – his typewriter, he mentally clarified. He didn't even own a shotgun. The typewriter was probably just as loud.

_Lisa stretched a rubber band between her thumb and index finger, creating a makeshift slingshot into which she placed a butterfly clip. She aimed with a practiced eye and waited until the tension was just right before letting it fly._

He crossed his hands behind his head, looking over what he'd written in the past two hours. Sadly, it didn't require him to turn the page. He sighed. With so much material, it should have been easier. He needed to focus on plot rather than character; he was always getting hung up on character. None of the reviews of _Deep Six_ had been terribly concerned about anything beyond the 'exciting plot' and 'colorful cast.' He had the feeling that 'colorful' and 'insightfully developed' weren't interchangeable.

_Tommy jumped out of his chair in surprise as the small bit of shrapnel struck the crown of his head. "Officer down! Lisa, where…" he trailed off as he saw her trying to hide her launcher and ammunition. "Very funny. You could have put my eye out!"_

"_I have excellent aim!" she countered, affronted. "At Moussad, I spent…"_

"_Blah, blah, blah…kill with paperclips…yadda, yadda, yadda…you're better than me. I get it." They stood staring at each other silently across their parallel desks, stepping around the furniture and moving closer through an unspoken accord._

_When they were standing face to face in the middle of the bullpen, Lisa said, "Don't sell yourself short. You were great last night."_

_McGregor cleared his throat. "You guys know I can hear you, right? And that Tibbs will be back from…_

McGee didn't complete the sentence, wondering if that scene were based on something he'd actually witnessed. He put his pen down and leaned forward to get a clear view of Ziva in an attempt to jog his memory. She was asleep on her gurney, snoring quietly. Tony had his shoeless feet propped up on the end of the mattress, his chair tilted back and Ziva's hand clamped in his. He was snoring as well. McGee allowed himself a low chuckle as he wondered how they'd respond if he worked a fight about snoring into the novel somehow.

_Lisa and Tommy angrily cornered McGregor in the elevator. "Hey, relax you guys! It wasn't like Tibbs didn't already know! He's omniscient."_

_"Omnivorous," Tommy corrected._

_"Like a bear?" Lisa questioned._

_Tommy scratched his chin. "Bears aren't all-powerful, but that's not a bad description of the boss."_

_"No, you're thinking of omnipotent. Bears are omnivorous because they eat both plant and animal matter. Anyway, McGregor said omniscient, didn't you…McGregor?"_

_Lisa and Tommy both leaned out of the elevator to catch a glimpse of their colleague's back as he disappeared into the stairwell door down the hall._

He placed his pen on the pad just before he began free writing about his associations with elevators and stood. The monotonous drone of the planes engines seemed to have put everyone but him to sleep: Tony, Ziva…the Director, who was stretched out on the couch. He walked down the narrow central aisle, noting that even Gibbs, with his coffee still half-finished in the armrest's built-in cup holder, had drifted off. He continued on to the small lavatory.

Splashing water on his face, he looked at his dripping reflection in the mirror. He needed a shave, not that anyone standing more than two feet away from him would notice. His eyes popped open as he remembered where he'd gotten the inspiration for the scene he'd just written – during the Neal case, when Tony and Ziva had been goofing around and he'd filmed them crashing to the floor. He checked his phone; the brief clip was still on it, right after the squad room girlfight. He'd made backup files of the videos on his computer, but they were fun to have readily accessible for a quick laugh.

He played the clip, turning up the volume to hear Tony's yelp as he fell on Ziva. They'd never carried out a retaliatory prank for that one. Of course, that had been right before Ziva had…and a couple months before Tony and Ziva had…before McGee had decided to make Tommy and Lisa a couple, anyway. He closed the lavatory door carefully behind him and made his way back to his seat.

_Tommy pulled Lisa back into the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor. As the car began to move, he hit the emergency stop. She gave him a warning look. "Tibbs is expecting us at the car and McGregor is probably already down there. Tibbs won't be happy if you show up with lipstick all over your face."_

_He stepped closer, inhaling her perfume. "So you admit you wear makeup?"_

"_I never denied it." Her arms encircled his neck._

"_You've never made it obvious though."_

_Her breath was warm on his cheek as she replied, "Because I don't apply it with a paintbrush?" _

_Tommy was saved the trouble of a reply._

_When they arrived at the car five minutes later, a steaming Tibbs said only, "That's a nice shade of lipstick on you, Tommy. Now get in the damn car."_

McGee looked over his shoulder to make sure Gibbs hadn't snuck up behind him and started reading over his shoulder. He hadn't moved since McGee had passed on his way back from the bathroom. As proud as he was of his writing, in general, he was still uncomfortable with the idea that the team was reading it. Or could read it. He reflected that Tony was unlikely to ever reach the end of _Deep Six_. Of course, he could just ask Ziva what was going on in their counterparts' world.

McGee sighed and picked up his pen again.

_(Several hours later – fill in crime scene later. Must be_ in detail!_) Tibbs led his three subordinates into the lab to see what forensic specialist Amy Sutton had obtained during her early analysis of…_

He paused. He couldn't write the scene about forensics without writing the scene of the crime scene first. He tapped the pen against the paper. Although he reluctantly conceded that his characters were based on people he knew, he prided himself on his original storylines. Sure, he borrowed from the vast collection of cases that had passed in front of his eyes while working at NCIS, but never too obviously. The last thing he wanted to do was get a case thrown out or a conviction overturned with some crazy slip-up in his novel. If Tony and Ziva weren't fooled by the disclaimer, no slick lawyer would be. He still wasn't clear on all the potential legal ramifications of revealing true case details, so he tended to warp them enough to make them unrecognizable.

He put away his pen and notepad, stuck on an unwieldy plot involving a character suspiciously reminiscent of Dmitri Tushkevich trying to kidnap a panda that had been used to import some secret new miniature nuclear weapon from China. Tushkevich was probably off limits anyway; if the CIA didn't catch it, Moussad would. Not to mention Ziva. Holding his bag on his lap, he tried to decide between the books he'd brought with him. Reading was the next best thing to writing, he supposed.

"Agent McGee?"

His head shot up in surprise, almost as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. "Director, um…"

She stretched her arms over her head as she sat up. "Can't sleep?"

"No, not really."

"Well, we're due to land in," she paused as she checked her watch, "Damn it. I forgot to switch back to Eastern. Well…" Her brow contracted as she stared at her wrist. "Two hours? Something like that. Would you like some coffee?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. In spite of the months he'd spent with the team in close quarters with Shepard, he had reverted right back to thinking of her only as the Director the moment he'd arrived back at NCIS. He didn't want to see her drunk and he certainly didn't want her getting him coffee. "I think Gibbs got the last cup."

She gave him an amused smirk. "You think I can't make more myself?"

"No, it's just…do you want me to make it?"

A snort of laughter alerted him to the fact that Tony was now awake as well. "You trying to poison her, Probie? I think you're better off making it yourself, Jenny."

McGee acquiesced to the Director's offer and tuned out the conversation she began with Tony. Pulling out his pen and notebook, he wrote,

_Director Jane Swenson glanced with disdain at Agent Tommy over her shoulder as she walked up the stairs leading to her office. "I've told you multiple times not to refer to me by my first name."_

_Tibbs delivered a smack to Tommy's head as he slunk back to his desk. "Learn to respect your superiors."_

_In a final insult, Lisa perched on the edge of his desk as he tried to return to hunting and pecking his report on the keyboard he had never mastered. "I don't think Janie likes you very much."_

_He frowned at his partner and lover, muttering, "Director's pet."_

McGee struck out the words 'and lover' before putting his notebook away for good. Tony was teasing Ziva, who couldn't eat or drink anything for the next several days, with the aroma of the coffee.


	46. Chapter 46

Gibbs remained in his seat when the jet taxied to a stop near its hangar, watching Jen and his team move around as they prepared to deplane. His eyes narrowed as she made a point of ignoring him. He had managed a short nap during the flight, but that only meant he'd have trouble falling asleep that night. He knew he'd likely spend the time awake in his bed, pondering what she and Ziva were keeping from him.

The red strobes from an ambulance radiated through the cabin as the hatch was opened. Before anyone could get off the plane, two paramedics boarded to retrieve Ziva. An argument ensued on the tarmac moments later when they refused to take Tony with them.

Gibbs, seeing that no one else was planning to step in, intervened, "Ziva, it's gonna take some time for you to go through the paperwork or whatever and get settled in a room. DiNozzo and I will swing by your apartment and drop off your stuff from the trip. He'll probably want to eat something. Then I'll drive him to the hospital and you two can embarrass yourselves in front of nurses in a whole new place. Good?"

He didn't pay attention to their responses, but walked to the waiting car, into which McGee had already retreated. Jen and a grudging Tony joined them a few moments later. The ride back to the Navy Yard was silent, or at least ignorable, giving him time to puzzle through the possible scenarios. He knew Ziva and Jen had worked together in Europe and the surrounding areas for almost four years, so it was likely whatever was happening had to do with one of those missions.

He sighed heavily and looked out the window at the Washington skyline. He wasn't going to be able to access the files for the missions that interested him, especially if Moussad had also been involved. Anything that was linked to events occurring now was under lock and key. He could always have McGee or Abby go digging, but even they would need some search parameters beyond a vague location and a span of four years. Gibbs wanted answers _now_.

The easiest solution presented itself when Tony dropped a suitcase beside the trunk of his car. "Ready to go, boss? Or were you just yanking my chain about giving me a ride? It is kinda out of your way, so I could just go with McGee."

Gibbs shook his head at Tony's rambling and interrupted, "It's no trouble, DiNozzo. Just give me a minute." He tossed the keys, which Tony dropped, and shouted over his shoulder as he followed Jen toward the building, "Throw your stuff in the trunk and wait for me."

He didn't hear Tony's reply, picking up his pace and catching Jen as she stepped into the elevator. He wasn't expecting much from her, but another try couldn't hurt. She frowned as they were sealed into the small car by the closing doors. "Forget something at your desk that can't wait until tomorrow, Agent Gibbs?"

"Nope." He pressed the emergency stop button, halting the suddenly darkened elevator.

Jen dropped her bag on the floor and crossed her arms. "I take it this is your subtle way of demanding information you have no right to know?"

"No right? That's a little harsh, Jen."

"Funny. I thought I was being civil. The fact is it doesn't concern you, end of story."

"Uh-huh." He turned to face her, dropping his conversational tone, "And what about when Ziva disappears for a few days or months and I'm short a team member? Will it concern me then?"

She spun to meet his angry glare with one of her own. "If – and this is a damn big if – Officer David's involvement becomes necessary, I'll get you a temporary replacement. I suggest you forget about this matter until that unlikely event occurs." She restarted the elevator, exiting it at the top floor with a final warning, "The situation is being dealt with, which is more than you need to know. Have a good night, Jethro."

"Yeah, sure," he muttered to himself, watching her disappear into MTAC as the elevator doors closed.

* * *

Jenny nodded to the two operators present in the small room as she entered. To her surprise, Cynthia was seated in the front row of chairs. She sprang up when she turned and saw Jenny. "Director! Welcome back! I knew you'd most likely stop here first and Director David has been trying to reach you for the past hour. We're also online with Agent Cartwright and his team in Libya. Who do you want…"

She accepted the file Cynthia handed her without looking at it, instructing, "Get Cartwright first."

One of the technicians at the desk interjected, "Director David is calling again."

"Fine. Put him through." A few moments later David appeared on the large screen, his expression troubled. Jenny knew something detrimental to the operation had happened. "What's wrong?"

"Getting right to the point, eh?"

"You wouldn't call personally with good news, Abraham."

"Indeed. I don't know if you've had a chance to speak to your team in Tripoli yet…"

"I haven't."

"Then it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that two hours ago all traces of Safad and Sahrawi were lost. Your team and ours are working to regain contact, but thus far…"

"They've just _disappeared_?" she shouted, throwing the file in her hand to the floor in a release of frustration in lieu of unholstering and discharging the SIG securely fastened at her waist. She stepped around Cynthia, kneeling to collected the papers that had spilled from the folder, and moved closer to the screen. "How?"

"I am sure you would rather speak with your own men regarding the circumstances. I have been attempting to contact you to assure you of Moussad's continued commitment to this mission."

"Thank you, Abraham," she answered with some sarcasm she regretted. She was too perturbed about the current setback to amend the slip.

"Shalom, Jen." David's image disappeared, replaced by some surveillance footage time-coded several hours earlier.

Sinking into a chair and taking the file Cynthia gave her again, Jenny watched the two men who had murdered her partner several years previously walk down a sunlit street in a Libyan bazaar. She wished she'd ordered the NCIS team to shoot them the moment contact was confirmed. It was a limited strategy – the stated goal of such missions was to ascertain and prevent whatever the cell was plotting or simply take out the entire cell – but it had the benefit of being quick. She tapped the edge of the file she was holding against her temple. She didn't want it to be quick; she wanted them to suffer. She had suffered.

Vengeance would have to wait until the men were located again. She let the folder drop from her hand as she turned to the technicians at the desk. "You said Agent Cartwright is waiting to speak with me?"

"It'll take us a moment to set up the…"

"Do it. Cynthia?"

Her assistant sat up in the seat beside her, having just collected the file again. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"Would you get me a cup of coffee?"

"Are you going to treat it the same way you've been treating the mission file?" Cynthia asked with a wry grin.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, I'll get that right away, Director."

* * *

Gibbs followed Tony into the kitchen, dropping the suitcase he'd carried upstairs beside the couch on his way past it. He'd been working on Tony since leaving NCIS. "DiNozzo, let's be clear on one thing. I'm not being paranoid or nosy here. Something is going on with Ziva, Jen and Moussad. Do I have to remind you what happened the last time they knew about something they didn't tell us until it was too late?"

"Yeah. Uh-huh. Bad stuff."

In spite of Tony's nonchalance, Gibbs could see him trying to hide his tension by sticking his head further into the refrigerator. He decided a gentle reminder was in order. "Three months with Tushkevich."

"I said I remember," Tony said through gritted teeth, placing a loaf of bread, some condiments and some wrapped packets on the counter. "Would you like a sandwich? I've got roast beef or turkey, cheese, mustard…"

"I'm not hungry. But you see why you should share anything Ziva lets slip."

In spite of his sling, Tony was surprisingly adept making his turkey sandwich. "She won't say anything."

"If she does…"

"She won't, Gibbs. And, quite frankly, I don't like you trying to use me to spy on her. Isn't there some kind of spousal privilege or something?" He took a large bite of his completed sandwich, chewing with exaggerated motions to accommodate the amount of food.

"Not until you're actually married, DiNozzo." Gibbs felt some guilt for taking his concern and curiosity so far. He rested his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Look, I'm not trying to get you to betray Ziva. I know you love her and I would never ask you to do that. I just want to make sure she stays safe. And the Director stays safe. If they're getting into something, I want to be able to back them up."

"Mm hmm. Plus, it's killing you not knowing, huh?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to talk with your mouth full?"

"Ziva gave up. I'm getting better about throwing my laundry in the hamper and not drinking from the milk carton, though." Tony finished his sandwich and washed it down with a few swallows of milk sans glass. "Good thing she's not here right now."

"Yeah, DiNozzo. You still want that ride to Bethesda?"

Tony looked at him suspiciously. "I don't know. Are you gonna keep trying to convince me that it's us against Ziva and Jenny?"

"We're not against them," Gibbs replied defensively. "We just can't be on their side if we don't know what's happening."

"And we can't assume they've got it under control?"

"Even if you had bothered to learn rule number eight, precedent is not in their favor on this one. And I didn't like surprises to begin with."

"Yeah, which is why you didn't get the pony party on your last birthday."

Gibbs didn't let Tony's puppy-dog eyes at his cast deter him from administering a slap. "And I'm sorry, Tony."

"Couldn't you have just not smacked me?"

"I meant about the other thing. I don't have any right to your pillow talk."

"Oh, that's the last thing I'd be sharing with you, boss." Tony rubbed the back of his head, looking pensive as they made their way to Gibbs' car. "It doesn't matter that she trusts me. She really won't tell me anything important if it's classified and need to know and all that jazz."

"Yeah." Gibbs rested his elbows on the roof of the car for a moment as Tony got in, considering his other options. Abby and McGee were going to have to get busy. "Yeah," he repeated, settling into the driver's seat.


	47. Chapter 47

Ziva tapped her fingers impatiently on the plastic guardrail of her hospital bed. There was nothing on TV, the magazines were all six months out of date, the only book anyone seemed to have was _Deep Six_ and they'd changed her meds to a less potent painkiller. Bethesda was not her favorite hospital.

She had to admit that she was happy to be back to herself. Whatever they had put her on in Rota had worked well, but she cringed to think of the numerous compromising words and actions it had prevented her from censoring. Now she wasn't completely pain-free, but she wasn't overly mouthy or inexplicably horny either.

She stared out the window, ignoring the occasional glances around the edge of the dividing curtain from visitors in the room. Unlike her previous few hospital stays, she had a roommate this time, and while she had no issues with her comatose fellow patient, the unfortunate woman's family was insufferable. The seemingly endless parade of parents, siblings, grandparents, aunt, uncles and cousins had taken to heart what the doctors had told them about unconscious people hearing everything said around them. After spending an hour talking about the lives of people they disliked at their church, one of them had gone to the newsstand and purchased a pile of tabloid rags; now they were discussing immorality in Hollywood.

As if the constant inane chatter wasn't bad enough, the conversation would shift abruptly for a few minutes to the condition of the patient. From what Ziva had overheard, she was a Marine corporal named Bridget, though they constantly referred to her as Biddy, who had been wounded serving in Iraq. Whenever the topic of the war came up, one of the family members would look suspiciously around the curtain at Ziva, turn away quickly and mutter a racist comment about Arabs. She didn't have the energy to yell at or correct them anymore. They'd ignored her thus far anyway. On one level, she understood that they were upset about their relation's condition; on another, she didn't think they seemed like very nice people to begin with.

Ziva almost grabbed the Glock stuffed under her pillow when a shadow again approached the curtain, but it was abruptly pulled back to reveal a large bouquet of flowers that concealed the entire head of the person carrying them. Her visitor's identity was revealed with the Scottish brogue that said, "Well, well, well, my dear! Aren't we looking hale and hearty?"

She grinned. "How can you even see around the garden you've brought with you, Ducky?"

He lowered the flowers and returned her smile. "Yes, well, it's a dual purpose bouquet. In fact, all from mother's garden, you know. She takes credit for all the gardener's hard work because of her own efforts. I mean, naturally, sitting on the shaded porch, drinking lemonade and shouting while allowing the dogs to nip at the poor man. But, the flowers – I thought something that said both get well and congratulations." He leaned forward to place a kiss on her cheek. "And how is the future Mrs. Anthony DiNozzo feeling today?"

"All right. But I'm not changing my name."

"I doubt Jethro would even allow it. Imagine, having two Agent DiNozzos running around!" He laughed as he placed the flowers on her bedside table. "Congratulations are still in order, though. Tony showed me the ring he's holding onto for you until you get out of the hospital. Have you had a chance to consider a date?"

"Oh, not for a while. My father and Gibbs have already forbidden us to elope."

"Making it all the more tempting, eh?" Ducky removed his hat and set it beside the flowers as he sank into the only chair Corporal Bridget's family hadn't appropriated. "I imagine Tony would be the kind of groom you'd have to force into making wedding plans, selecting flower arrangements and color schemes and all that."

"And I'm the Godzilla who has to have everything just so?"

"I believe the term is Bridezilla, though you have the root word correct. Now that I think about it, it's a bit of a silly coinage. Bridezilla? Had to be the brainchild of some horrid television executive. Ah, but I wouldn't think you would be all that keen on the planning either."

"I'm thinking a scheduled elopement. Tell everyone we're planning to invite two weeks in advance and just rush City Hall and an unsuspecting restaurant."

Ducky nodded his head in approval. "Very avant-garde. What does he think?"

"I haven't had a chance to talk to him about it yet. I thought of it while I was getting the CT scan last night. He was here after that, but they kicked him out." She gave a snort of laughter, remembering their brief encounter. She'd just been arriving in her room after a battery of tests when Tony had appeared in the hallway. They'd had just enough time for a quick kiss and for her to hand off her jewelry before the nurse had started threatening to call security. Thankfully, comatose Bridget's family hadn't been there at that point.

Ducky demonstrated that he had probably had a long conversation with McGee by asking, "Was he being mischievous?"

"No, it was just after visiting hours had ended. I was expecting to see him by now today, actually. What's he up to at NCIS? Is there a new case?"

"Oh, no. He's hunched over his keyboard, doing paperwork in regards to your little jaunt. Gibbs seemed quite adamant about keeping him at his desk until five, at the barest minimum."

"I can't say I'm surprised. Not that I'm not happy to see you, Ducky, but why aren't you there now? Your lunch break doesn't cover a trip home to pick flowers and a leisurely visit here."

"Well, I am the chief medical examiner." Ziva laughed as Ducky puffed himself up dramatically. "I think I've earned a bit of freedom at this point in my career." He relaxed, dropping his shoulders. "But, as it stands, I have a decisive lack of guests in the morgue. I assigned Mr. Palmer some inventorying and decided my time would be better spent with a living patient. Ah, speaking of which, would you think it a terrible invasion of your privacy if I asked for a peek at your chart, my dear?"

"Be my guest, Doctor."

She watched him rise eagerly to claim the chart hanging from the end of her bed and continued her silent observation as he flipped through the pages with an occasional noise of agreement. He eventually looked up. "It appears you're going to make a full recovery. You'll be buying out the Jell-O section at your local market again, but…"

"Ducky! You should have told me you were coming! We could have carpooled! Hi!" Abby waved to the invisible group behind the curtain before rushing up to Ziva's bedside and wrapping her in a tight hug. "And you have to stop scaring us all the time!"

Ziva gasped as Abby's hold began to hurt. "Abby! Easy!"

She backed off, horrified. "Oh my God! Sorry! I have to remember not to further harm my hospitalized friends with hugging injuries. It's not another bullet wound, is it?"

"No, it's…" Ziva paused, unsure how to describe her internal injuries. "Ducky?"

"A tear in the duodenum, with peripheral damage to the bile duct and pyloric sphincter. Repaired, but still sore, I presume."

"Uh-huh," she agreed.

Abby still looked worried. "But you're going to get better soon, right?"

"Absolutely," Ducky confirmed. "Though she'll be walking with a stylish cane for some time."

"Hey, if you want a really cool one with a silver skull for a head, I have one at home."

"Thanks, Abby," Ziva replied, hoping she could get a physical therapist who would insist on something more orthopedic. "I'll let you know if I need it."

"Excellent. So, when are you and Tony planning to put the official stamp on forsaking all others? Because I have the perfect outfit…"

Ziva took a deep breath before starting to answer Abby's question, one she was sure everyone who came to visit would ask her. She wondered if the hospital had a justice of the peace on staff; it would certainly save time.


	48. Chapter 48

Tony sauntered down the now familiar hallway at Bethesda Navel Hospital. Not having any further busywork to assign him on this lovely Friday afternoon, Gibbs had allowed Tony to leave early. He, of course, was taking the opportunity to visit his fiancée.

He smiled brightly as he stepped into the elevator with a group of dour medical workers. Fiancée was a fun word to throw around. He'd sent a mass email at the first chance to all of his friends with the intelligence that he'd gotten engaged. Responses had ranged from cautious notes of congratulations to lengthy letters of utter disbelief. With all that had been going on in his life, Tony realized that he hadn't even told half the people on the list that he was even in a serious relationship. It certainly explained why a good portion of them thought it was some kind of prank. As soon as Ziva was out of her hospital gown, he needed pictures. Both before and after she got into her regular clothes. Only the latter would be sent to his friends.

Why hadn't he thought of pictures to this point? All he really had were a few wide-eyed shots of her at crime scenes stored in random files because he hadn't deleted them from the case-related photos. Maybe that was why he hadn't considered taking pictures; he could look at her whenever he wanted. Why have her in a frame on his desk when she was life-size across the bullpen? He bit his lip as he got off the elevator, putting together 'life-size' and 'on his desk' in his mind.

He knew the thought was still written across his face when she greeted him with a forceful, "No, Tony."

"What did I do?" he asked innocently, checking the mirror on the wall to make sure his worst fear – a plasma screen mounted on the back of his neck that displayed his thoughts – hadn't been realized. "Oh, and it's nice to see you too."

"Sorry, but you had that _look_ when you walked in."

"What look?" He leaned over for a kiss that lasted until a nurse walked in. The nurses had gotten to know him over the past few days since Ziva had arrived from Rota and their impressions hadn't been entirely wholesome. Ducky had even told him he'd seen a note in her chart – 'Watch out for the boyfriend. Very touchy-feely with the patient.'

Ziva replied to a few of the nurse's questions about how she was feeling that day before the other woman exited with a suspicious glance at Tony. Ziva turned to him. "They _really_ don't like you."

"Yeah, well, as medical professionals, you think they'd be a little more sensitive to the man with the sling." He adjusted his arm and pulled his backpack, which he'd dropped absently-mindedly when he'd needed his hand for other matters, into his lap as he sat. "Speaking of people who don't like me…where's your roommate and her evil family?"

"She was moved to a long-term care facility in Baltimore this morning. I hope she gets better. Aside from her family, I liked her."

"She was in a coma," Tony said, opening his backpack and flipping through the selection of movies he'd brought. "That's why we called her Comatose Bridget."

"I know. She was great. And can we talk for a little bit before you put a movie on?"

"Huh?" He dropped _Saving Private Ryan_ back into the bag on top of _The Great Escape_, wondering now why he'd ever thought 'World War II' would be a good theme. He'd even packed _Das Boot_. He could have just as easily picked 'Vietnam' or 'Recent Musicals,' but no… "Yeah, maybe movies aren't the best idea today. Or I could run to Blockbuster and rent something."

"Tony…"

"Sorry. Have you, uh, heard from Adi yet?"

"No. I hope nothing is wrong with Dara. I mean, I can't think of any other reason she wouldn't even call. It's been three days…have I really been here for three days?"

"Hey, relax." He leaned forward, resting his chin on her forearm. "She's your best friend and she had a, well, a rough experience. I'm sure everything with them is…hey, speak of the devil." He stood to shake Eyal Dagan's hand as he arrived at Ziva's bedside, clutching a small bouquet.

"Shalom, Tony. Am I interrupting?"

"No!" Ziva answered immediately, beckoning Dagan closer for a hug. "Is everything okay with Adi and Dara?"

"They are quite all right, but I am here to speak with you about my wife. I don't wish to be rude, but could we have a private conversation, Ziva?"

"Not a problem. Tony?"

He did his best not to frown as she looked at him expectantly. "Oh, sure. I'll, uh, just go grab a coffee or something."

"Yes, I saw a Starbucks down the street," Dagan added helpfully, with a significant look.

Tony got the none-too-subtle hint. "Right. I'll see you guys in half an hour or so then?" He kissed Ziva and walked down the hall, knowing this had to be some kind of karmic retribution for the World War II movies.

At the front entrance of the hospital, he automatically held the door for a woman toting a baby in a carrier.

He didn't recognize Adi Dagan until she looked at him. "Thank…Tony! Are you on your way to visit Ziva?"

"No, I, uh," he rushed back through the door and ahead two steps to hold the second door for her as well, "I was actually just there but your husband popped in and asked to speak to Ziva privately." At Adi's somewhat uncertain look, he continued, "He seemed kind of nervous, like whatever it was, it was serious. Maybe some kind of Moussad thing."

"Moussad, yes," she replied sarcastically, tightening her grip on the handle of the baby carrier until her knuckles whitened. "He did say he was going out on Moussad business and they are both Moussad."

"Uh, Adi, is everything okay?"

"Why wouldn't everything be okay? It's not like I didn't know how close they were before I started dating him! They were very open about the fact that they'd been each other's first."

Tony's eyes widened with the confirmation of the feeling he'd gotten the first time he'd spoken with Dagan about Ziva, just prior to the operation in Siberia. "Ziva and Eyal…"

"I believe you Americans would say they were high school sweethearts, yes?"

"Uh, apparently." Pushing the thought from his mind, he settled his hand on Adi's shoulder. "Look, you seem a little tense. Can I get you a cold drink or something?"

"Well, I've just been hanging out alone – well, with Dara, but she's not exactly the best conversationalist yet – so I thought I'd stop by and see my best friend who's having a private chat with my husband, who she slept with before I knew either of them." She took a deep breath and looked at Tony carefully. "You may actually be the person I really need to talk to right now."

"Yeah, okay," he replied, not knowing what else to do. Was Adi suffering from that after-baby craziness that happened to women? Postal depression? No, that sounded like the stage immediately preceding 'disgruntled.' He murmured, "Postpartum depression?"

"What?"

"Oh, there's some couches in the lobby area right over there, if you want to sit."

"All right." He waited, trying not to think as he sat on the edge of his seat at one end of the couch. Adi calmly rearranged the blankets around the sleeping baby in the carrier beside her before turning to him. "I know that we don't really know each other that well and I haven't been…well, do you mind if we talk seriously for a few minutes?"

He nodded, hoping he wasn't agreeing to something he'd regret. "Uh, yeah, sure."

She took her time considering him and finally asked, "Have you ever seen Ziva kill someone?"

"Yes. Couple of times, in fact."

"Seriously, Tony, I'm not joking."

"Neither am I."

She wrung her hands. "How do you live with it? Knowing that you're sleeping beside someone who's capable of taking another human life with so little…"

"Effort?" he suggested.

"Hesitation. Remorse."

"Adi, is this about what happened at the Embassy last weekend?"

"It was just…" She lowered her voice and leaned toward Tony to make herself heard, "You hear stories about the Moussad and what they're capable of. And then you look at your husband and think, 'Not him. He's Moussad, but he's not doing the really horrible stuff. He does intelligence work. He wears a suit. Sure, he got shot a few months ago, but that was just a mistake.' Intelligence – it sounds so clean, doesn't it?

"And it's the same with Ziva. She's my best friend and there are just these big chunks of time when she isn't reachable and I know I can't ask her about them when she gets home. And I tell myself that it's just following people or whatever, but God knows what the two of them have really done…"

Tony swallowed the lump in his throat as he thought of Tushkevich. "Trust me, it's better not to know."

"But now I _do_ know. And I can't un-know it. I mean, that man, Cohen? He walked into the room and pointed a gun at us and threatened us. And before I even knew what was really happening he was on the floor and his neck was broken." She stared at her hands, speaking very slowly, "And Eyal didn't even look at him. He looked at Dara and I and asked if we were okay. He snapped a man's neck like it was nothing and just…" She buried her face in her hands and leaned closer to Tony.

Unsure of what to do, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Look, Adi, no matter what you saw, you have to remember the motivation. Cohen was pointing a gun at you and your daughter. Eyal reacted the way he did because you were in danger."

"Oh, my husband killed someone for me. How does that make it better?"

He groped for some common ground, finding it in the not-too-distant past. "Ziva…the last time I saw her kill someone, actually saw her fire her weapon and kill a person, she was shooting at guy who had his hands around my neck, strangling me. She saved my life. It's happened more than once. Ziva and Eyal…they aren't the kind of people who hurt other people for fun. They do it to save the lives of others."

"I just don't understand how they can make that choice. It scares me."

"What if the circumstances were different? What if it was your choice?"

"Don't start comparing us. They're Moussad. You're a cop. I'm a _doctor_. I don't shoot people."

"Well…" Tony puffed out his cheeks and gave a long exhalation, knowing that now was not the time to lecture Adi on the many duties of law enforcement that didn't involve discharging firearms. "Okay, how about this? You're in your hospital and Eyal is visiting. He's holding Dara. All of a sudden, a guy with a gun runs in and says he's going to start killing people if…uh, if he doesn't get a Snickers right away."

"Why would he be threatening us over a candy bar?"

"It's a hypothetical and I'm kind of on the spot, here. Just listen. You've got a syringe of, oh, penicillin in your pocket and you can see that he's got one of those bracelet things that says he's allergic. He'll have an instant reaction if you inject him. What do you do?"

"None of this makes any sense."

"He's cocking the gun."

"Tony…"

"He's about to pull the trigger…"

"I'd inject him."

"You'd put the people you cared about first. That's what we all do. Extreme circumstances call for extreme reactions." He watched her carefully as she sat up. She seemed more relaxed, less like a pot about to boil over. "Feel a little better?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes. I do." She stood and stretched. "A lot better, actually. Did you really just fix everything with a ludicrous hypothetical?"

"I…don't know?"

"You're right. You just helped me think through what was already there."

"Okay…" Tony stood and scratched his head, more unsure now than he had been when they'd first sat down. "Do you, uh, want to go up and see Ziva?" If anyone could save him, he reminded himself, Ziva could.

"Yes, I think I'm ready to see her. And Eyal. I haven't been treating him very well the past few days." She picked up Dara in her carrier. "My husband saved my life and our daughter's life and all I've been able to think about is the man who was threatening us in the first place! Unbelievable!"

Tony led the way to the elevator. "Yeah, well…hey, why did you tell me they were, uh, _involved_?"

"Oh, they've known each other almost all their lives." Adi leaned against the wall of the large, empty compartment, supporting the baby carrier on her hip, now speaking casually, "They're both from Moussad families, the sole task of which is raising little Moussad Officers. Not really, but…you've met her father. Anyway, she told me about it before she introduced me to Eyal. They were young and they didn't regret it but they'd figured out they weren't good together."

"But why did you tell me?"

"It's not what you think; it's not a warning. They're not in love, not with each other, anyway. And they're both loyal. Faithful."

"So why?"

"I'm sorry, Tony. I've been angry and scared for the past few days. You just got in the way."

"But you feel better now?"

"Yes. Thank you. You know, I think I'm starting to see what Ziva sees in you."

He laughed. "That's good to know. I was worried that you would be the one who wouldn't want to forever hold her peace."

"What do you mean?"

Tony smiled. "I'll let Ziva tell you."


	49. Chapter 49

"There's no magic thing you can say that will make everything better," Ziva said, squeezing Eyal's hand supportively. The only time she'd seen him more worked up had been the time he'd come to her to ask what she thought of his desire to propose to Adi. That conversation had had a much easier resolution. Ziva continued, "And I'm not suggesting you try to force her to talk to you. We both know that won't work. You just have to let her work things out on her own, I guess. She's not going to stay like this forever."

"That's what I thought you'd probably say. But you'll talk to her for me?" He gave her a half-smile at her nod and slumped back into his seat. "I know, I'm just being paranoid, but you haven't seen the way she's been looking at me."

Her gaze was drawn to the door where Adi was standing quietly with a baby carrier. "I don't really see the problem."

Eyal turned to see what she was looking at and immediately stood when he saw his wife. "Shalom, Adi."

Ziva turned her attention to a flock of small birds flying past the window as the pair greeted each other almost shyly. Eyal had spent the interval since Tony had gone talking with Ziva about the incident that had led to the distance. Sneaking a glance at the two of them, she couldn't see it. They seemed more embarrassed and uncomfortable than anything else. She decided to speak up, "I'd offer the two of you some privacy, but…"

"I saw what looked like a conference room on my way down the hall," Eyal interrupted, taking her hint. "And yes, I think we should take a few moments to speak privately. Adi?"

She looked from Eyal to Ziva with a slight pout, her eyes finally settling on Ziva. "Can you watch Dara for a minute, then? I don't think she'll be waking up for at least a little while, so nothing too demanding…"

"Of course. Take as long as you need."

She hesitated. "You don't have anything serious or contagious, do you? Because I don't really even like having her in here for too long."

"They swabbed my injuries down this afternoon and I've had enough antibiotics to kill a plague." Ziva smiled and ignored the hard plastic that dug into her skin as Adi placed the baby carrier on her bed. "Oh, and I'm feeling fine, by the way."

"I know. If you weren't, Tony would have tethered himself to your bed instead of wandering around the hospital." She leaned over to kiss Ziva's cheek. "I'll come back in a little bit."

"Yes, because I have your baby. But you saw Tony?"

"We talked for a little bit. I think I'm finally seeing what you see in him, but we can discuss that after everything else is settled again."

"Uh, hi." Tony was now the one standing in the doorway, but he held only a bottle of Diet Coke. "You guys aren't talking about me, are you? Y'know, with the Hebrew…"

"Not everything is about you, Tony," Adi said, taking Eyal's hand as she left the room. "I don't think we'll be too long."

"Yeah, okay," he replied, sitting in the chair Eyal had vacated and watching the two Israelis leave the room.

He turned to look out the window with a worried look and shifted in the chair. Ziva didn't give him a chance to get comfortable. "What, exactly, did you two talk about?"

"What?" he asked guiltily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Can you believe how much the vending machines here charge for a soda?" He tried to sip from the bottle without uncapping it.

"Don't change the subject. Adi said you and she talked for a while."

"Oh, I was going out when she was coming in and she seemed kind of upset, so we talked about it. It was just a little impromptu meeting of the 'My Significant Other is a Moussad Assassin' support group."

She looked at him carefully, not liking his refusal to make eye contact. "And what else did you talk about?"

"Nothing." He bit his lower lip and shook his head. "Anything good on TV?"

"Tony, seriously. What is it?"

He finally met her gaze, a slightly frightened expression on his face. "Were you and Eyal really…Adi said that when you were in high school you and he…"

Infuriated, Ziva cut him off, "Adi _told_ you that?"

"I don't think she was planning to say anything, but she was angry and I think she wanted an angry buddy, so…"

"Don't defend her! She had no right to tell you!"

"Hey! I get to be a little bit angry here too!" Tony shouted back. "You haven't exactly been upfront about this guy!"

A small noise caused Ziva to restrain her impulse to continue shouting. "We're going to wake Dara. Let's just keep our voices down." She took a deep breath. "And what have I not been upfront about? Eyal is an old friend, a trusted fellow officer and he's married to my best friend, with whom he just had a baby. There's nothing else between us now."

"But there used to be," Tony added grudgingly.

"Yes. Over ten years ago. I'm not jealous of the women you were with ten years ago."

"Yeah, well, they're not still hanging around me." He rose and began pacing. "And I'm not jealous. I just…why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's a non-issue," she reasoned. "If it had ever come up, I would have been honest, but it just hasn't."

"I did bring it up! I told you I was nervous about him when we were in Israel!"

"Keep your voice down," she hissed, reaching toward Dara, who was starting to fuss. "And I don't remember you saying a word about it."

"You were in a coma at the time."

Ziva paused with her hand on the baby's blankets, unable to stay mad when Tony turned and gave her a disarming grin. She smiled back. "I wasn't trying to keep it a secret. Really, though, how was I supposed to bring it up?"

He gave a snort of laughter and sank into his seat again. "Look I know it happened a long time ago, but you gotta admit, it's a weird thing to suddenly find out. I mean, we'd only known each other for, like, a week, when you found out about me and the Rockette."

"Are you saying you want me to tell you about it?"

"No, it's not that. It's just…well, I thought women always remember their first time…"

"Oh and you don't remember yours? If you want the short and dirty version, it was fast, it was painful, I didn't have an orgasm, and later I had to lie to my father about how I got blood on my pants. Enough?"

"Uh, too much."

"Tony…" She decided the conversation had gone far enough. She slipped her hands under Dara and lifted her out of the carrier into her arms, gently rocking her. The baby seemed to relax, though her eyes were open and she appeared to be observing the room attentively. "Don't tell Adi this, but when she was first born, she looked just like the elderly woman who lived next to my grandmother."

"Who's changing the topic now?"

"You said you didn't want to hear any more. Did you want me to tell you about how the sex was better on subsequent occasions?"

"No!"

"How about we just drop this whole thing? Because I don't think you want to hear…" Ziva scrunched her nose as Dara began to cry in earnest. "Ssh, sssh. Your parents will be back to fix that before long, I hope."

"Ugh, what is that smell?"

Ziva looked at Tony in mock seriousness. "One of the many persuasive arguments against reproduction."

"You don't mind it as much when it's yours," Adi said, appearing in the room suddenly and moving to take Dara from Ziva's arms.

"Liar," Ziva said, remembering that she was still a little bit angry at Adi for telling Tony about Eyal.

"Don't belittle my coping mechanisms. I'll be back in a minute."

Tony waited until Adi had left to ask, "Did she mean you don't mind the smell when it's your own baby or your own shit?"


	50. Chapter 50

Tony flipped through the months-old issue of Sports Illustrated, pretending it was current and Ohio State was still unbeaten on its way to the BCS Championship. That was one good thing about hospitals – you could always pretend the world was several months younger and some of the bad stuff hadn't happened yet. He reflected that if it were really the date on the magazine, Ziva wouldn't be in the hospital. In fact, she'd be about two weeks away from being shot by a guy hiding under a staircase while Tony teased her about not being able to crack a digital safe.

He shook his head and tried to focus on his magazine, but his eyes were drawn to the door of Ziva's room, still closed, as it had been since he, Eyal and the baby had been kicked out so as not to disturb the sacred ceremony of 'girl talk.' The only nurse who had attempted to enter had been turned away with Adi's shouted assertion, "I'm a doctor!"

"Since when does Ziva have such good relationships with other women? Like, talk for hours on end relationships?" he inquired of Troy Smith, who stared back unblinkingly from the page. "Yeah, well, don't look so smug, Heisman-boy."

"Talking to yourself might not be the best idea. They do have a small psychiatric unit here, Tony."

He looked up and smiled. "I may need it if my Buckeyes don't redeem themselves this season, Jenny." He swung his legs off the end of the bank of poorly cushioned seats to make room for the Director. "Here to visit Ziva?"

"Yes. I have to admit, I'm a little surprised to see you out here. Is she sick of your company?"

"No, she's not. It's just that…" he dropped his automatic defensive tone when he saw that Jenny was smiling. "Sorry. I've been getting a bunch of, uh, _surprised_ reactions from the people I've told about the engagement and I…"

"You don't have to explain, Tony. I see the two of you almost everyday and I still can't believe it. In a good way," she clarified at his frown. "So why are you sitting in the hall reading old magazines?"

"Her friend Adi's in there, probably…" he trailed off. Adi's reaction to the news of his and Ziva's engagement had been unreadable silence, which probably meant something bad. Eyal, on the other hand, had seemed pretty happy, congratulating Tony again before he left with the baby. Still feeling slightly insecure over the newly revealed information about Eyal's past with Ziva, Tony had jokingly commented, "Nothing you haven't done already, huh?"

Eyal had considered him seriously. "Do you want me to assume you're speaking of marriage in general?"

"What are you going to tell me if I want something more specific?"

"It's in the past. And she didn't…" Tony wasn't sure if his memory had added the sudden, fleeting slump in Eyal's shoulders. "Look, I don't have any regrets. Why should I? I have a wife and daughter whom I love very much. And Ziva has you. I'd make threats about breaking her heart, but I know her father." He'd shaken Tony's hand and offered his best wishes again before leaving.

"Tony?" Jenny's voice called him back to the moment.

"Oh, yeah. I mean…what were you saying?"

"I was just asking how long Adi and Ziva have been alone in there."

"Oh, right." He consulted his watch, though the empty soda bottle and coffee cups lined up on the floor told him before he started judging the position of the little hand. "About an hour and a half."

"Hm. Think I should risk an interruption?"

"Why not? Adi can't get mad at you." He dropped the magazine on his seat as he rose and stretched before following Jenny to the closed door, not particularly caring if his assessment of Ziva's best friend would turn out accurate.

Adi, in fact, did not get angry about the interruption, being more alarmed about the time as she checked her watch. Tony was pleased to see that she seemed more amiably disposed to him as she said her goodbyes, giving him kisses on both cheeks and saying she'd drop by to see them both the following day. He sank into one of the chairs at Ziva's bedside, waiting until Adi had left before asking, "So she likes me again then? Or has she just accepted that she's stuck with me if she still wants to hang out with you?"

Ziva's eyebrows contracted. "When did she not like you?"

"Well, when you told her we're engaged, she didn't seem too…"

"She was just surprised. Oh, and we can add her to the list of people who'll kill us if we elope."

"Am I on that list?" Jenny asked, reminding Tony of the reason he was back in Ziva's room.

"Absolutely, Jen," Ziva replied. Her eyes darted to Tony before she turned her attention to Jenny. "Any news on…any news?"

"Long gone and no traces," she answered, just as vaguely. "Yet."

Tony watched them, assuming that they were talking about whatever it was that was causing Gibbs so much misery. Maybe Gibbs was right and he should make an attempt to prod Ziva into giving up more information. A small glimpse of black under the pillow as she sat up momentarily to adjust her position quashed that idea. As much as he wanted some reassurances that Ziva and Jenny weren't going to be off on some international super spy mission the second she was released from the hospital, he had no desire to annoy Ziva into whipping out her Glock. He maintained his silence as the two women exchanged some more brief, ambiguous comments about 'them,' comforting himself with Ziva's assurances that she wouldn't leave him behind with no explanations.

The conversation took a more positive turn after that, though Tony had very little to add on the topic of venues for the wedding and reception. From her expression and occasional grunts to demonstrate her continued attention to a suddenly talkative Jenny, he could see that Ziva wasn't eager to commit to any of the water or monument views that Jenny was suggesting. After ten minutes long minutes, Jenny finally said, "This is probably all premature. You haven't even set a date, yet, have you?"

"No," Ziva stated firmly.

Just to be difficult, Tony added, "But we haven't had much time to talk about it either. Get back to us tomorrow and we'll let you know."

Jenny took him far less seriously than Ziva did. As soon as their boss was gone, she seized a clump of his shirt and pulled him toward her. "Can we please just take this one step at a time?"

"I was just kidding," he said, taking advantage of the forced proximity by placing some wet kisses on her neck. "So when are you getting out of here?"

"Tony, it's going to be a few weeks before we can…"

He didn't try to stop her from shrinking back. "It was a legitimate question."

"Oh. Not for a few days, at least." When he sank back into his seat with some disappointment, she added, "Hey, I'm not any happier about it than you are."

"I know. I just…" He shrugged rather than complete the thought. He decided they were going to work on their communication and honesty in non-life-threatening situations at some point before they got married. It was possible that this just wasn't the right time for him to admit that he missed her for more than physical reasons. Even with the snoring, the sheet-stealing and the threats when his busy hands didn't want to take no for an answer, he wanted her sleeping in his bed. Their bed. "If I sleep alone too much longer, I'll just get used to it and you'll have to retrain me when you get home."

"Will I need to use the handcuffs?"

He fidgeted uneasily. "Don't bring that up too often. McGee told me he might include it in his next novel. Turns out that Tommy and Lisa have fallen desperately in love."

"I am _not_ desperate."

Tony grinned, sensing it was safe to move from his chair to a seat on the bed. "Y'know, 'desperately' wasn't the most interesting word in that sentence."

Ziva smiled back as he leaned over her. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He settled himself beside her with a feeling of happy contentment. "How about a movie?"

The End

A/n: Thank you to all who read and reviewed! Not entirely sure what happens next…maybe a(nother) sequel. A fluffy one.


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